SUNDRY  ACCOUNTS 


BY    IRVIN    S.    COBB 


FICTION 

SUNDRY  ACCOUNTS 

J.  POINDEXTER,  COLORED 

BACK  HOME 

FROM  PLACE  TO  PLACE 

OLD  JUDGE  PRIEST 

LOCAL  COLOR 

THOSE  TIMES  AND  THESE 

THE  ESCAPE  OF  MR.  TRIMM 

WIT  AND  HUMOR 

ONE  THIRD  OFF 

A  PLEA  FOR  OLD  CAP  COLLIER 

THE  ABANDONED  FARMERS 

THE  LIFE  OF  THE  PARTY 

EATING  IN  Two  OR  THREE  LANGUAGES 

"On,  WELL,  You  KNOW  How  WOMEN 

ARE!" 
FIBBLE  D.  D. 

"  SPEAKING  OF  OPERATIONS " 

EUROPE  REVISED 
ROUGHING  IT  DE  LUXE 
COBB'S  BILL  OF  FARE 
COBB'S  ANATOMY 

MISCELLANY 

THE  THUNDERS  OF  SILENCE 
THE  GLORY  OF  THE  COMING 
PATHS  OF  GLORY 
"SPEAKING  OF  PRUSSIANS " 


NEW  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


SUNDRY 
ACCOUNTS 


BY 

IRVIN  S.   COBB 

AUTHOR  OF  "BACK  HOME,"  "SPEAKING  OF 

OPERATIONS—,"  "OLD  JUDGE 

PRIEST,"  ETC. 


NEW  xar  YORK 

GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,    1922, 
BY  GEOKGE  n.    DOEAN  COMPANY 


PRINTED   TN   TITE   UNITED  STATES   OP  AMERICA 


TO 
JOHN  WILSON  TOWNSEND,  ESQUIRE 


6G2747 


CONTENTS 


I  DARKNESS 11 

II  THE  CATER-CORNERED  SEX 57 

III  A  SHORT  NATURAL  HISTORY 104 

IV  IT  COULD  HAPPEN  AGAIN  TO-MORROW     ....  157 
V  THE  RAVELIN'  WOLF 212 

VI  "WORTH  10,000" 246 

VII  MR.  LOBEL'S  APOPLEXY 300 

VIII  ALAS,  THE  POOR  WHIFFLETIT! 341 

IX  PLENTIFUL  VALLEY 392 

X  A  TALE  OF  WET  DAYS  .  ,424 


[vii] 


SUNDRY  ACCOUNTS 


CHAPTER  I 
DARKNESS 


THERE  was  a  house  in  this  town  where 
always  by  night  lights  burned.  In  one 
of  its  rooms  many  lights  burned;  in 
each  of  the  other  rooms  at  least  one 
light.  It  stood  on  Clay  Street,  on  a  treeless 
plot  among  flower  beds,  a  small  dull-looking 
house;  and  when  late  on  dark  nights  all  the 
other  houses  on  Clay  Street  were  solid  block 
ings  lifting  from  the  lesser  blackness  of  their 
background,  the  lights  in  this  house  patterned 
its  windows  with  squares  of  brilliancy  so  that 
it  suggested  a  grid  set  on  edge  before  hot 
flames.  Once  a  newcomer  to  the  town,  a  tran 
sient  guest  at  Mrs.  Otterbuck's  boarding  house, 
spoke  about  it  to  old  Squire  Jonas,  who  lived 
next  door  to  where  the  lights  blazed  of  nights, 
and  the  answer  he  got  makes  a  fitting  enough 
beginning  for  this  account. 

This  stranger  came  along  Clay  Street  one 
morning,  and  Squire  Jonas,  who  was  leaning 
over  his  gate  contemplating  the  world  as  it 


SUNDRY      ACCOUNTS 


passed  in  review,  nodded  to  him  and  remarked 
that  it  was  a  fine  morning;  and  the  stranger 
was  emboldened  to  stop  and  pass  the  time  of 
day,  as  the  saying  goes. 

"I'm  here  going  over  the  books  of  the  Bern- 
heimer  Distilling  Company,"  he  said  when  they 
had  spoken  bf  this  and  that,  "and,  you  know, 
when  a  chartered  accountant  gets  on  a  job  he's 
siippOfcect  to  .keep  right  at  it  until  he's  done. 
Well,  my  work  keeps  me  busy  till  pretty  late. 
And  the  last  thre'e  nights,  passing  that  place 
yonder  adjoining  yours,  I've  noticed  she  was 
all  lit  up  like  as  if  for  a  wedding  or  a  christen 
ing  or  a  party  or  something.  But  I  didn't  see 
anybody  going  in  or  coming  out,  or  hear  any 
body  stirring  in  there,  and  it  struck  me  as 
blamed  curious.  Last  night — or  this  morning, 
rather,  I  should  say — it  must  have  been  close 
on  to  half -past  two  o'clock  when  I  passed  by, 
and  there  she  was,  all  as  quiet  as  the  tomb 
and  still  the  lights  going  from  top  to  bottom. 
So  I  got  to  wondering  to  myself.  Tell  me, 
sir,  is  there  somebody  sick  over  there  next 
door?" 

"Yes,  suh,"  stated  the  squire,  "I  figure  you 
might  say  there  is  somebody  sick  there.  He's 
been  sick  a  powerful  long  time  too.  But  it's 
not  his  body  that's  sick;  it's  his  soul." 

"I  don't  know  as  I  get  you,  sir,"  said  the 
other  man  in  a  puzzled  sort  of  way. 

"Son,"  stated  the  squire,  "I  reckin  you've 

been  hearin'  'em,  haven't  you,  singin'  this  here 

__ 


DARKNESS 


new  song  that's  goin'  'round  about,  'I'm  Afraid 
to  Go  Home  in  the  Dark'?  Well,  probably  the 
man  who  wrote  that  there  song  never  was 
down  here  in  these  parts  in  his  life;  probably 
he  just  made  the  idea  of  it  up  out  of  his  own 
head.  But  he  might  'a'  had  the  case  of  my 
neighbor  in  his  mind  when  he  done  so.  Only 
his  song  is  kind  of  comical  and  this  case  here  is 
about  the  most  uncomic  one  you'd  be  likely  to 
run  acrost.  The  man  who  lives  here  alongside 
of  me  is  not  only  afraid  to  go*  home  in  the  dark 
but  he's  actually  feared  to  stay  in  the  dark 
after  he  gets  home.  Once  he  killed  a  man  and 
he  come  clear  of  the  killin'  all  right  enough,  but 
seems  like  he  ain't  never  got  over  it;  and  the 
sayin'  in  this  town  is  that  he's  studied  it  out 
that  ef  ever  he  gets  in  the  dark,  either  by  him 
self  or  in  company,  he'll  see  the  face  of  that 
there  man  he  killed.  So  that's  why,  son,  you've 
been  seein'  them  lights  a-blazin'.  I've  been 
seein'  'em  myself  fur  goin'  on  twenty  year  or 
more,  I  reckin  'tis  by  now,  and  I've  got  used 
to  'em.  But  I  ain't  never  got  over  wonderm' 
whut  kind  of  thoughts  he  must  have  over  there 
all  alone  by  himself  at  night  with  everything  lit 
up  bright  as  day  around  him,  when  by  rights 
things  should  be  dark.  But  I  ain't  ever  asted 
him,  and  whut's  more,  I  never  will.  He  ain't 
the  kind  you  could  go  to  him  astin'  him  per 
sonal  questions  about  his  own  private  affairs. 
We-all  here  in  town  just  accept  him  fur  whut 
he  is  and  sort  of  let  him  be.  He's  whut  you 

[7s] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


might  call  a  town  character.    His  name  is  Mr. 
Dudley  Stackpole." 

In  all  respects  save  one,  Squire  Jonas,  telling 
the  inquiring  stranger  the  tale,  had  the  rights 
of  it.  There  were  town  characters  aplenty  he 
might  have  described.  A  long-settled  commun 
ity  with  traditions  behind  it  and  a  reasonable 
antiquity  seems  to  breed  curious  types  of  men 
and  women  as  a  musty  closet  breeds  mice  and 
moths.  This  town  of  ours  had  its  town  mys 
teries  and  its  town  eccentrics — its  freaks,  if  one 
wished  to  put  the  matter  bluntly;  and  it  had 
its  champion  story-teller  and  its  champion  liar 
and  its  champion  guesser  of  the  weight  of  live 
stock  on  the  hoof. 

There  was  crazy  Saul  Vance,  the  butt  of 
cruel  small  boys,  who  deported  himself  as  any 
rational  creature  might  so  long  as  he  walked  a 
straight  course;  but  so  surely  as  he  came  to 
where  the  road  forked  or  two  streets  crossed 
he  could  not  decide  which  turning  to  take  and 
for  hours  angled  back  and  forth  and  to  and 
fro,  now  taking  the  short  cut  to  regain  the 
path  he  just  had  quitted,  now  retracing  his 
way  over  the  long  one,  for  all  the  world  like  a 
geometric  spider  spinning  its  web.  There  was 
old  Daddy  Hannah,  the  black  root-and-yarb 
doctor,  who  could  throw  spells  and  weave 
charms  and  invoke  conjures.  He  wore  a  pair 
of  shoes  which  had  been  worn  by  a  man  who 
was  hanged,  and  these  shoes,  as  is  well  known, 
leave  no  tracks  which  a  dog  will  nose  after  or 


DARKNESS 


a  witch  follow,  or  a  ha'nt.  Small  boys  did  not 
gibe  at  Daddy  Hannah,  you  bet  you!  There 
was  Major  Burnley,  who  lived  for  years  and 
years  in  the  same  house  with  the  wife  with 
whom  he  had  quarreled  and  never  spoke  a 
.word  to  her  or  she  to  him.  But  the  list  is 
overlong  for  calling.  With  us,  in  that  day  and 
time,  town  characters  abounded  freely.  But 
Mr.  Dudley  Stackpole  was  more  than  a  town 
character.  He  was  that,  it  is  true,  but  he 
was  something  else  besides;  something  which 
tabbed  him  a  mortal  set  apart  from  his 
fellow  mortals.  He  was  the  town's  chief 
figure  of  tragedy. 

If  you  had  ever  seen  him  once  you  could 
shut  your  eyes  and  see  him  over  again.  Yet 
about  him  there  was  nothing  impressive,  noth 
ing  in  his  port  or  his  manner  to  catch  and  to 
hold  a  stranger's  gaze.  With  him,  physically, 
it  was  quite  the  other  way  about.  He  was  a 
short  spare  man,  very  gentle  in  his  movements, 
a  toneless  sort  of  man  of  a  palish  gray  cast, 
who  always  wore  sad-colored  clothing.  He 
would  make  you  think  of  a  man  molded  out  of 
a  fog;  almost  he  was  like  a  man  made  of 
smoke.  His  mode  of  living  might  testify  that 
a  gnawing  remorse  abode  ever  with  him,  but 
his  hair  had  not  turned  white  in  a  single  night, 
as  the  heads  of  those  suddenly  stricken  by  a 
great  shock  or  a  great  grief  or  any  greatly  up 
setting  and  disordering  emotion  sometimes  are 
reputed  to  turn.  Neither  in  his  youth  nor 
[15] 


SUNDRY      ACCOUNTS 


when  age  came  to  him  was  his  hair  white. 
But  for  so  far  back  as  any  now  remembered  it 
had  been  a  dullish  gray,  suggesting  at  a  dis 
tance  dead  lichens. 

The  color  of  his  skin  was  a  color  to  match  in 
with  the  rest  of  him.  It  was  not  pale,  nor  was 
it  pasty.  People  with  a  taste  for  comparisons 
were  hard  put  to  it  to  describe  just  what  it 
was  the  hue  of  his  face  did  remind  them  of, 
until  one  day  a  man  brought  in  from  the  woods 
the  abandoned  nest  of  a  brood  of  black  hor 
nets,  still  clinging  to  the  pendent  twig  from 
which  the  insect  artificers  had  swung  it.  Dark 
ies  used  to  collect  these  nests  in  the  fall  of  the 
year  when  the  vicious  swarms  had  deserted 
them.  Their  shredded  parchments  made  ideal 
wadding  for  muzzle-loading  scatter-guns,  and 
sufferers  from  asthma  tore  them  down,  too, 
and  burned  them  slowly  and  stooped  over  the 
smoldering  mass  and  inhaled  the  fumes  and  the 
smoke  which  arose,  because  the  country  wise 
acres  preached  that  no  boughten  stuff  out  of  a 
drug  store  gave  such  relief  from  asthma  as  this 
hornet's-nest  treatment.  But  it  remained  for 
this  man  to  find  a  third  use  for  such  a  thing. 
He  brought  it  into  the  office  of  Gafford's  wagon 
yard,  where  some  other  men  were  sitting  about 
the  fire,  and  he  held  it  up  before  them  and  he 
said: 

"Who  does  this  here  hornet's  nest  put  you 
fellers  in  mind  of — this  gray  color  all  over  it, 
and  all  these  here  fine  lines  runnin*  back  and 


DARKN  ESS 


forth  and  every  which-a-way  like  wrinkles? 
Think,  now — it's  somebody  you  all  know." 

And  when  they  had  given  it  up  as  a  puzzle 
too  hard  for  them  to  guess  he  said: 

"Why,  ain't  it  got  percisely  the  same  color 
and  the  same  look  about  it  as  Mr.  Dudley 
Stackpole*s  face?  Why,  it's  a  perfect  imitation 
of  him!  That's  whut  I  said  to  myself  all  in  a 
flash  when  I  first  seen  it  bouncin'  on  the  end  of 
this  here  black  birch  limb  out  yonder  in  the  flats." 

"By  gum,  if  you  ain't  right!"  exclaimed  one 
of  the  audience.  "Say,  come  to  think  about  it, 
I  wonder  if  spendin'  all  his  nights  with  bright 
lights  burnin'  round  him  is  whut's  give  that  old 
man  that  gray  color  he's  got,  the  same  as  this 
wasp's  nest  has  got  it,  and  all  them  puckery 
lines  round  his  eyes.  Pore  old  devil,  with  the 
hags  furever  ridin'  him!  Well,  they  tell  me 
he's  toler'ble  well  fixed  in  this  world's  goods, 
but  poor  as  I  am,  and  him  well  off,  I  wouldn't 
trade  places  with  him  fur  any  amount  of 
money.  I've  got  my  peace  of  mind  if  I  ain't 
got  anything  else  to  speak  of.  Say,  you'd  'a' 
thought  in  all  these  years  a  man  would  get 
over  broodin'  over  havin'  killed  another  feller, 
and  specially  havin'  killed  him  in  fair  fight. 
Let's  see,  now,  whut  was  the  name  of  the  feller 
he  killed  that  time  out  there  at  Cache  Creek 
Crossin's?  I  actually  disremember.  I've  heard 
it  a  thousand  times,  too,  I  reckin,  if  I've  heard 
it  oncet." 

For  a  fact,  the  memory  of  the  man  slain  so 
[17] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


long  before  only  endured  because  the  slayer 
walked  abroad  as  a  living  reminder  of  the  tak 
ing  off  of  one  who  by  all  accounts  had  been  of 
small  value  to  mankind  in  his  day  and  genera 
tion.  Save  for  the  daily  presence  of  the  one, 
the  very  identity  even  of  the  other  might  be 
fore  now  have  been  forgotten.  For  this  very 
reason,  seeking  to  enlarge  the  merits  of  the 
controversy  which  had  led  to  the  death  of  one 
Jesse  Tatum  at  the  hands  of  Dudley  Stackpole, 
people  sometimes  referred  to  it  as  the  Tatum- 
Stackpole  feud  and  sought  to  liken  it  to  the 
Faxon-Fleming  feud.  But  that  was  a  real  feud 
with  fence-corner  ambuscades  and  a  sizable 
mortality  list  and  nighttime  assassinations  and 
all;  whereas  this  lesser  thing,  which  now  briefly 
is  to  be  dealt  with  on  its  merits,  had  been  no 
more  than  a  neighborhood  falling  out,  having 
but  a  solitary  homicide  for  its  climactic  up 
shot.  So  far  as  that  went,  it  really  was  not  so 
much  the  death  of  the  victim  as  the  survival  of 
his  destroyer — and  his  fashion  of  living  after 
wards — which  made  warp  and  woof  for  the 
fabric  of  the  tragedy. 

With  the  passage  of  time  the  actuating  causes 
were  somewhat  blurred  in  perspective.  The 
main  facts  stood  forth  clear  enough,  but  the 
underlying  details  were  misty  and  uncertain, 
like  some  half-obliterated  scribble  on  a  badly 
rubbed  slate  upon  which  a  more  important 
sum  has  been  overlaid.  One  rendition  had  it 
that  the  firm  of  Stackpole  Brothers  sued  the 

[18] 


DARKNESS 


two  Tatums — Harve  and  Jess — for  an  account 
long  overdue,  and  won  judgment  in  the  courts, 
but  won  with  it  the  murderous  enmity  of  the 
defendant  pair.  Another  account  would  have 
it  that  a  dispute  over  a  boundary  fence  march 
ing  between  the  Tatum  homestead  on  Cache 
Creek  and  one  of  the  Stackpole  farm  holdings 
ripened  into  a  prime  quarrel  by  reasons  of 
Stackpole  stubbornness  on  the  one  hand  and 
Tatum  malignity  on  the  other.  By  yet  a  third 
account  the  lawsuit  and  the  line-fence  matter 
were  confusingly  twisted  together  to  form  a 
cause  for  disputation. 

Never  mind  that  part  though.  The  incon 
trovertible  part  was  that  things  came  to  a  de 
cisive  pass  on  a  July  day  in  the  late  80's  when 
the  two  Tatums  sent  word  to  the  two  Stack- 
poles  that  at  or  about  six  o'clock  of  that  eve 
ning  they  would  come  down  the  side  road  from 
their  place  a  mile  away  to  Stackpole  Brothers' 
gristmill  above  the  big  riffle  in  Cache  Creek 
prepared  to  fight  it  out  man  to  man.  The  warn 
ing  was  explicit  enough — the  Tatums  would 
shoot  on  sight.  The  message  was  meant  for 
two,  but  only  one  brother  heard  it;  for  Jeffrey 
Stackpole,  the  senior  member  of  the  firm,  was 
sick  abed  with  heart  disease  at  the  Stackpole 
house  on  Clay  Street  in  town,  and  Dudley,  the 
junior,  was  running  the  business  and  keeping 
bachelor's  hall,  as  the  phrase  goes,  in  the  liv 
ing  room  of  the  mill;  and  it  was  Dudley  who 

received  notice. __ 

[19] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


Now  the  younger  Stackpole  was  known  for  a 
law-abiding  and  a  well-disposed  man,  which 
reputation  stood  him  in  stead  subsequently; 
but  also  he  was  no  coward.  He  might  crave 
peace,  but  he  would  not  flee  from  trouble  mov 
ing  toward  him.  He  would  not  advance  a  step 
to  meet  it,  neither  would  he  give  back  a  step 
to  avoid  it.  If  it  occurred  to  him  to  hurry  in 
to  the  county  seat  and  have  his  enemies  put 
under  bonds  to  keep  the  peace  he  pushed  the 
thought  from  him.  This,  in  those  days,  was 
not  the  popular  course  for  one  threatened  with 
violence  by  another;  nor,  generally  speaking, 
was  it  regarded  exactly  as  the  manly  one  to 
follow.  So  he  bided  that  day  where  he  was. 
Moreover,  it  was  not  of  record  that  he  told 
anyone  at  all  of  what  impended.  He  knew 
little  of  the  use  of  firearms,  but  there  was  a 
loaded  pistol  in  the  cash  drawer  of  the  mill 
office.  He  put  it  in  a  pocket  of  his  coat  and 
through  the  afternoon  he  waited,  outwardly 
quiet  and  composed,  for  the  appointed  hour 
when  single-handed  he  would  defend  his  honor 
and  his  brother's  against  the  unequal  odds  of 
a  brace  of  bullies,  both  of  them  quick  on  the 
trigger,  both  smart  and  clever  in  the  handling 
of  weapons. 

But  if  Stackpole  told  no  one,  someone  else 
told  someone.  Probably  the  messenger  of  the 
Tatums  talked.  He  currently  was  reputed  to 
have  a  leaky  tongue  to  go  with  his  jimberjaws; 
a  born  trouble  maker,  doubtless,  else  he  would 
[20] 


DARKNESS 


not  have  loaned  his  service  to  such  employ 
ment  in  the  first  place.  Up  and  down  the  road 
ran  the  report  that  before  night  there  would  be 
a  clash  at  the  Stackpole  mill.  Peg-Leg  Foster, 
who  ran  the  general  store  below  the  bridge  and 
within  sight  of  the  big  riffle,  saw  fit  to  shut  up 
shop  early  and  go  to  town  for  the  evening. 
Perhaps  he  did  not  want  to  be  a  witness,  or 
possibly  he  desired  to  be  out  of  the  way  of 
stray  lead  flying  about.  So  the  only  known 
witness  to  what  happened,  other  than  the  par 
ties  engaged  in  it,  was  a  negro  woman.  She, 
at  least,  was  one  who  had  not  heard  the  rumor 
which  since  early  forenoon  had  been  spread 
ing  through  the  sparsely  settled  neighborhood. 
When  six  o'clock  came  she  was  grubbing  out  a 
sorghum  patch  in  front  of  her  cabin  just  north 
of  where  the  creek  cut  under  the  Blandsville 
gravel  pike. 

One  gets  a  picture  of  the  scene:  The  thin 
and  deficient  shadows  stretching  themselves 
across  the  parched  bottom  lands  as  the  sun  slid 
down  behind  the  trees  of  Eden's  swamp  lot; 
the  heat  waves  of  a  blistering  hot  day  still 
dancing  their  devil's  dance  down  the  road  like 
wriggling  circumflexes  to  accent  a  false  promise 
of  coolness  off  there  in  the  distance;  the  omi 
nous  emptiness  of  the  landscape;  the  brooding 
quiet,  cut  through  only  by  the  frogs  and  the 
dry  flies  tuning  up  for  their  evening  concert; 
the  bandannaed  negress  wrangling  at  the  weeds 
with  her  hoe  blade  inside  the  rail  fence;  and, 
[21] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


half  sheltered  within  the  lintels  of  the  office 
doorway  of  his  mill,  Dudley  Stackpole,  a  slim, 
still  figure,  watching  up  the  crossroad  for  the 
coming  of  his  adversaries. 

But  the  adversaries  did  not  come  from  up 
the  road  as  they  had  advertised  they  would. 
That  declaration  on  their  part  had  been  a  trick 
and  device,  cockered  up  in  the  hope  of  taking 
the  foe  by  surprise  and  from  the  rear.  In 
a  canvas-covered  wagon — moving  wagons,  we 
used  to  call  them  in  Red  Gravel  County — they 
left  their  house  half  an  hour  or  so  before  the 
time  set  by  them  for  the  meeting,  and  they  cut 
through  by  a  wood  lane  which  met  the  pike 
south  of  Foster's  store;  and  then  very  slowly 
they  rode  up  the  pike  toward  the  mill,  being 
minded  to  attack  from  behind,  with  the  added 
advantage  of  unexpectedness  on  their  side. 

Chance,  though,  spoiled  their  strategy  and 
made  these  terms  of  primitive  dueling  more 
equal.  Mark  how:  The  woman  in  the  sor 
ghum  patch  saw  it  happen.  She  saw  the  wagon 
pass  her  and  saw  it  brought  to  a  standstill  just 
beyond  where  she  was;  saw  Jess  Tatum  slide 
stealthily  down  from  under  the  overhanging 
hood  of  the  wagon  and,  sheltered  behind  it, 
draw  a  revolver  and  cock  it,  all  the  while  peep 
ing  out,  searching  the  front  and  the  nearer  side 
of  the  gristmill  with  his  eager  eyes.  She  saw 
Harve  Tatum,  the  elder  brother,  set  the  wheel 
chock  and  wrap  the  lines  about  the  sheathed 

whipstock,  and  then  as  he  swung  off  the  seat 

__ 


DARKNESS 


catch  a  boot  heel  on  the  rim  of  the  wagon  box 
and  fall  to  the  road  with  a  jar  which  knocked 
him  cold,  for  he  was  a  gross  and  heavy  man 
and  struck  squarely  on  his  head.  With  popped 
eyes  she  saw  Jess  throw  up  his  pistol  and  fire 
once  from  his  ambush  behind  the  wagon,  and 
then — the  startled  team  having  snatched  the 
wagon  from  before  him — saw  him  advance  into 
the  open  toward  the  mill,  shooting  again  as  he 
advanced. 

All  now  in  the  same  breath  and  in  a  jumble 
of  shock  and  terror  she  saw  Dudley  Stackpole 
emerge  into  full  sight,  and  standing  clear  a 
pace  from  his  doorway  return  the  fire;  saw  the 
thudding  frantic  hoofs  of  the  nigh  horse  spurn 
Harve  Tatum's  body  aside — the  kick  broke  his 
right  leg,  it  turned  out — saw  Jess  Tatum  sud 
denly  halt  and  stagger  back  as  though  jerked 
by  an  unseen  hand;  saw  him  drop  his  weapon 
and  straighten  again,  and  with  both  hands 
clutched  to  his  throat  run  forward,  head  thrown 
back  and  feet  drumming;  heard  him  give  one 
strange  bubbling,  strangled  scream — it  was  the 
blood  in  his  throat  made  this  outcry  sound 
thus — and  saw  him  fall  on  his  face,  twitching 
and  heaving,  not  thirty  feet  from  where  Dud 
ley  Stackpole  stood,  his  pistol  upraised  and 
ready  for  more  firing. 

As  to  how  many  shots,  all  told,  were  fired 

the  woman  never  could   say   with  certainty. 

There  might  have  been  four  or  five  or  six,  or 

even  seven,  she  thought.     After  the  opening 

[23] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


shot  they  rang  together  in  almost  a  continuous 
volley,  she  said.  Three  empty  chambers  in 
Tatum's  gun  and  two  in  Stackpole's  seemed 
conclusive  evidence  to  the  sheriff  and  the  coro 
ner  that  night  and  to  the  coroner's  jurors  next 
day  that  five  shots  had  been  fired. 

On  one  point,  though,  for  all  her  fright,  the 
woman  was  positive,  and  to  this  she  stuck  in 
the  face  of  questions  and  cross-questions.  After 
Tatum  stopped  as  though  jolted  to  a  stand 
still,  and  dropped  his  weapon,  Stackpole  flung 
the  barrel  of  his  revolver  upward  and  did  not 
again  offer  to  fire,  either  as  his  disarmed  and 
stricken  enemy  advanced  upon  him  or  after  he 
had  fallen.  As  she  put  it,  he  stood  there  like  a 
man  frozen  stiff. 

Having  seen  and  heard  this  much,  the  wit 
ness,  now  all  possible  peril  for  her  was  passed, 
suddenly  became  mad  with  fear.  She  ran  into 
her  cabin  and  scrouged  behind  the  headboard 
of  a  bed.  When  at  length  she  timorously  with 
drew  from  hiding  and  came  trembling  forth, 
already  persons  out  of  the  neighborhood,  drawn 
by  the  sounds  of  the  fusillade,  were  hurrying 
up.  They  seemed  to  spring,  as  it  were,  out  of 
the  ground.  Into  the  mill  these  newcomers 
carried  the  two  Tatums,  Jess  being  stone-dead 
and  Harve  still  senseless,  with  a  leg  dangling 
where  the  bones  were  snapped  below  the  knee, 
and  a  great  cut  in  his  scalp;  and  they  laid  the 
two  of  them  side  by  side  on  the  floor  in  the 
gritty  dust  of  the  meal  tailings  and  the  flour 


DARKNESS 


grindings.  This  done,  some  ran  to  harness  and 
hitch  and  to  go  to  fetch  doctors  and  law  offi 
cers,  spreading  the  news  as  they  went;  and 
some  stayed  on  to  work  over  Harve  Tatum  and 
to  give  such  comfort  as  they  might  to  Dudley 
Stackpole,  he  sitting  dumb  in  his  little,  clut 
tered  office  awaiting  the  coming  of  constable  or 
sheriff  or  deputy  so  that  he  might  surrender 
himself  into  custody. 

While  they  waited  and  while  they  worked  to 
bring  Harve  Tatum  back  to  his  senses,  the 
men  marveled  at  two  amazing  things.  The 
first  wonder  was  that  Jess  Tatum,  finished 
marksman  as  he  was,  and  the  main  instigator 
and  central  figure  of  sundry  violent  encounters 
in  the  past,  should  have  failed  to  hit  the  mark 
at  which  he  fired  with  his  first  shot  or  with  his 
second  or  with  his  third;  and  the  second,  a 
still  greater  wonder,  was  that  Dudley  Stack- 
pole,  who  perhaps  never  in  his  life  had  had  for 
a  target  a  living  thing,  should  have  sped  a  bul 
let  so  squarely  into  the  heart  of  his  victim  at 
twenty  yards  or  more.  The  first  phenomenon 
might  perhaps  be  explained,  they  agreed,  on 
the  hypothesis  that  the  mishap  to  his  brother 
coming  at  the  very  moment  of  the  fight's  be 
ginning,  unnerved  Jess  and  threw  him  out  of 
stride,  so  to  speak.  But  the  second  was  not  in 
anywise  to  be  explained  excepting  on  the  the 
ory  of  sheer  chance.  The  fact  remained  that  it 
was  so,  and  the  fact  remained  that  it  was 

strange. 

[25] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 

By  form  of  law  Dudley  Stackpole  spent  two 
days  under  arrest;  but  this  was  a  form,  a  legal 
fiction  only.  Actually  he  was  at  liberty  from 
the  time  he  reached  the  courthouse  that  night, 
riding  in  the  sheriff's  buggy  with  the  sheriff 
and  carrying  poised  on  his  knees  a  lighted  lan 
tern.  Afterwards  it  was  to  be  recalled  that 
when,  alongside  the  sheriff,  he  came  out  of  his 
mill  technically  a  prisoner  he  carried  in  his 
hand  this  lantern,  all  trimmed  of  wick  and 
burning,  and  that  he  held  fast  to  it  through 
the  six-mile  ride  to  town.  Afterwards,  too,  the 
circumstance  was  to  be  coupled  with  multiply 
ing  circumstances  to  establish  a  state  of  facts; 
but  at  the  moment,  in  the  excited  state  of 
mind  of  those  present,  it  passed  unremarked 
and  almost  unnoticed.  And  he  still  held  it  in 
his  hand  when,  having  been  released  under 
nominal  bond  and  attended  by  certain  sym 
pathizing  friends,  he  walked  across  town  from 
the  county  building  to  his  home  on  Clay  Street. 
That  fact,  too,  was  subsequently  remembered 
and  added  to  other  details  to  make  a  finished 
sum  of  deductive  reasoning. 

Already  it  was  a  foregone  conclusion  that  the 
finding  at  the  coroner's  inquest,  to  be  held  the 
next  day,  would  absolve  him;  foregone,  also, 
that  no  prosecutor  would  press  for  his  arraign 
ment  on  charges  and  that  no  grand  jury  would 
indict.  So,  soon  all  the  evidence  in  hand  was 
conclusively  on  his  side.  He  had  been  forced 
into  a  fight  not  of  his  own  choosing;  an  effort, 
[26] 


DARKNESS 


which  had  failed,  had  been  made  to  take  him 
unfairly  from  behind;  he  had  fired  in  self-de 
fense  after  having  first  been  fired  upon;  save 
for  a  quirk  of  fate  operating  in  his  favor,  he 
should  have  faced  odds  of  two  deadly  antago 
nists  instead  of  facing  one.  What  else  then 
than  his  prompt  and  honorable  discharge? 
And  to  top  all,  the  popular  verdict  was  that 
the  killing  off  of  Jess  Tatum  was  so  much 
good  riddance  of  so  much  sorry  rubbish;  a 
pity,  though,  Harve  had  escaped  his  just 
deserts. 

Helpless  for  the  time  being,  and  in  the  esti 
mation  of  his  fellows  even  more  thoroughly  dis 
credited  than  he  had  been  before,  Harve  Tatum 
here  vanishes  out  of  our  recital.  So,  too,  does 
Jeffrey  Stackpole,  heretofore  mentioned  once 
by  name,  for  within  a  week  he  was  dead  of  the 
same  heart  attack  which  had  kept  him  out  of 
the  fight  at  Cache  Creek.  The  rest  of  the  nar 
rative  largely  appertains  to  the  one  conspicuous 
survivor,  this  Dudley  Stackpole  already  de 
scribed. 

Tradition  ever  afterwards  had  it  that  on  the 
night  of  the  killing  he  slept — if  he  slept  at  all — 
in  the  full-lighted  room  of  a  house  which  was 
all  aglare  with  lights  from  cellar  to  roof  line. 
From  its  every  opening  the  house  blazed  as  for 
a  celebration.  At  the  first,  so  the  tale  of  it 
ran,  people  were  of  two  different  minds  to  ac 
count  for  this.  This  one  rather  thought  Stack- 
pole  feared  punitive  reprisals  under  cover  of 
[27] 


SUNDRY      ACCOUNTS 

night  by  vengeful  kinsmen  of  the  Tatums,  they 
being,  root  and  branch,  sprout  and  limb,  a  bel 
ligerent  and  an  ill-conditioned  breed.  That  one 
suggested  that  maybe  he  took  this  method  of 
letting  all  and  sundry  know  he  felt  no  regret  for 
having  gunned  the  life  out  of  a  dangerous 
brawler;  that  perhaps  thereby  he  sought  to 
advertise  his  satisfaction  at  the  outcome  of  that 
day's  affair.  But  this  latter  theory  was  not  to 
be  credited.  For  so  sensitive  and  so  well-dis 
posed  a  man  as  Dudley  Stackpole  to  joy  in  his 
own  deadly  act,  however  justifiable  in  the  sight 
of  law  and  man  that  act  might  have  been — 
why,  the  bare  notion  of  it  was  preposterous! 
The  repute  and  the  prior  conduct  of  the  man 
robbed  the  suggestion  of  all  plausibility.  And 
then  soon,  when  night  after  night  the  lights 
still  flared  in  his  house,  and  when  on  top  of  this 
evidence  accumulated  to  confirm  a  belief  al 
ready  crystallizing  in  the  public  mind,  the  town 
came  to  sense  the  truth,  which  was  that  Mr. 
Dudley  Stackpole  now  feared  the  dark  as  a 
timid  child  might  fear  it.  It  was  not  authen 
tically  chronicled  that  he  confessed  his  fears 
to  any  living  creature.  But  his  fellow  towns 
men  knew  the  state  of  his  mind  as  though  he 
had  shouted  of  it  from  the  housetops.  They 
had  heard,  most  of  them,  of  such  cases  be 
fore.  They  agreed  among  themselves  that  he 
shunned  darkness  because  he  feared  that  out  of 
that  darkness  might  return  the  vision  of  his 
deed,  bloodied  and  shocking  and  hideous.  And 


DARKNESS 


they  were  right.  He  did  so  fear,  and  he  feared 
mightily,  constantly  and  unendingly. 

That  fear,  along  with  the  behavior  which 
became  from  that  night  thenceforward  part 
and  parcel  of  him,  made  Dudley  Stackpole  as 
one  set  over  and  put  apart  from  his  fellows. 
Neither  by  daytime  nor  by  nighttime  was  he 
thereafter  to  know  darkness.  Never  again  was 
he  to  see  the  twilight  fall  or  face  the  blackness 
which  comes  before  the  dawning  or  take  his 
rest  in  the  cloaking,  kindly  void  and  nothing 
ness  of  the  midnight.  Before  the  dusk  of  eve 
ning  came,  in  midafternoon  sometimes,  of 
stormy  and  brief ened  winter  days,  or  in  the 
full  radiance  of  the  sun's  sinking  in  the  sum 
mertime,  he  was  within  doors  lighting  the  lights 
which  would  keep  the  darkness  beyond  his  por 
tals  and  hold  at  bay  a  gathering  gloom  into 
which  from  window  or  door  he  would  not  look 
and  dared  not  look. 

There  were  trees  about  his  house,  cotton- 
woods  and  sycamores  and  one  noble  elm  branch 
ing  like  a  lyre.  He  chopped  them  all  down 
and  had  the  roots  grubbed  out.  The  vines 
which  covered  his  porch  were  shorn  away.  To 
these  things  many  were  witnesses.  What  trans 
formations  he  worked  within  the  walls  were 
largely  known  by  hearsay  through  the  medium 
of  Aunt  Kassie,  the  old  negress  who  served  him 
as  cook  and  chambermaid  and  was  his  only 
house  servant.  To  half-fearsome,  half-fasci 
nated  audiences  of  her  own  color,  whose  mem- 

___ 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 

bers  in  time  communicated  what  she  told  to 
their  white  employers,  she  related  how  with  his 
own  hands,  bringing  a  crude  carpentry  into 
play,  her  master  ripped  out  certain  dark  closets 
and  abolished  a  secluded  and  gloomy  recess 
beneath  a  hall  staircase,  and  how  privily  he 
called  in  men  who  strung  his  ceilings  with  elec 
tric  lights,  although  already  the  building  was 
piped  for  gas;  and  how,  for  final  touches,  he 
placed  in  various  parts  of  his  bedroom  tallow 
dips  and  oil  lamps  to  be  lit  before  twilight  and 
to  burn  all  night,  so  that  though  the  gas  some 
time  should  fail  and  the  electric  bulbs  blink 
out,  there  still  would  be  abundant  lighting  about 
him.  His  became  the  house  which  harbored 
no  single  shadow  save  only  the  shadow  of  mor 
bid  dread  which  lived  within  its  owner's  bosom. 
An  orthodox  haunted  house  should  by  rights 
be  deserted  and  dark.  This  house,  haunted  if 
ever  one  was,  differed  from  the  orthodox  con 
ception.  It  was  tenanted  and  it  shone  with 
lights. 

The  man's  abiding  obsession — if  we  may  call 
his  besetment  thus — changed  in  practically  all 
essential  regards  the  manners  and  the  practices 
of  his  daily  life.  After  the  shooting  he  never 
returned  to  his  mill.  He  could  not  bring  him 
self  to  endure  the  ordeal  of  revisiting  the  scene 
of  the  killing.  So  the  mill  stood  empty  and 
silent,  just  as  he  left  it  that  night  when  he  rode 
to  town  with  the  sheriff,  until  after  his  broth- 
er's  death;  and  then  with  all  possible  dispatch 
[30] 


DARKNESS 


he  sold  it,  its  fixtures,  contents  and  goodwill, 
for  what  the  property  would  fetch  at  quick 
sale,  and  he  gave  up  business.  He  had  suffi 
cient  to  stay  him  in  his  needs.  The  Stackpoles 
had  the  name  of  being  a  canny  and  a  provident 
family,  living  quietly  and  saving  of  their  sub 
stance.  The  homestead  where  he  lived,  which 
his  father  before  him  had  built,  was  free  of 
debt.  He  had  funds  in  the  bank  and  money 
out  at  interest.  He  had  not  been  one  to  make 
close  friends.  Now  those  who  had  counted 
themselves  his  friends  became  rather  his  dis 
tant  acquaintances,  among  whom  he  neither 
received  nor  bestowed  confidences. 

In  the  broader  hours  of  daylight  his  ways 
were  such  as  any  man  of  reserved  and  diffident 
ways,  having  no  fixed  employment,  might  fol 
low  in  a  smallish  community.  He  sat  upon  his 
porch  and  read  in  books.  He  worked  in  his 
flower  beds.  With  flowers  he  had  a  cunning 
touch,  almost  like  a  woman's.  He  loved  them, 
and  they  responded  to  his  love  and  bloomed 
and  bore  for  him.  He  walked  downtown  to 
the  business  district,  always  alone,  a  shy  and 
unimpressive  figure,  and  sat  brooding  and  aloof 
in  one  of  the  tilted-back  cane  chairs  under  the 
portico  of  the  old  Richland  House,  facing  the 
river.  He  took  long  solitary  walks  on  side 
streets  and  byways;  but  it  was  noted  that, 
reaching  the  farther  outskirts,  he  invariably 
turned  back.  In  all  those  dragging  years  it  is 
doubtful  if  once  he  set  foot  past  the  corporate 
[31] 


SUNDRY      ACCOUNTS 


limits  into  the  open  country.  Dun  hued,  un 
obtrusive,  withdrawn,  he  aged  slowly,  almost 
imperceptibly.  Men  and  women  of  his  own 
generation  used  to  say  that  save  for  the  wrin 
kles  ever  multiplying  in  close  cross-hatchings 
about  his  puckered  eyes,  and  save  for  the  en 
hancing  of  that  dead  gray  pallor — the  wasp's- 
nest  overcasting  of  his  skin — he  still  looked  to 
them  exactly  as  he  had  looked  when  he  was  a 
much  younger  man. 

It  was  not  so  much  the  appearance  or  the 
customary  demeanor  of  the  recluse  that  made 
strangers  turn  about  to  stare  at  him  as  he 
passed,  and  that  made  them  remember  how  he 
looked  when  he  was  gone  from  their  sight.  The 
one  was  commonplace  enough — I  mean  his  ap 
pearance — and  his  conduct,  unless  one  knew 
the  underlying  motives,  was  merely  that  of  an 
unobtrusive,  rather  melancholy  seeming  gentle 
man  of  quiet  tastes  and  habits.  It  was  the 
feeling  and  the  sense  of  a  dismal  exhalation 
from  him,  an  unhealthy  and  unnatural  mental 
effluvium  that  served  so  indelibly  to  fix  the 
bodily  image  of  him  in  the  brainpans  of  casual 
and  uninformed  passers-by.  The  brand  of  Cain 
was  not  on  his  brow.  By  every  local  standard 
of  human  morality  it  did  not  belong  there.  But 
built  up  of  morbid  elements  within  his  own 
conscience,  it  looked  out  from  his  eyes  and 
breathed  out  from  his  person. 

So  year  by  year,  until  the  tally  of  the  years 
rolled  up  to  more  than  thirty,  he  went  his  lone 


DARKNESS 


unhappy  way.  He  was  in  the  life  of  the  town, 
to  an  extent,  but  not  of  it.  Always,  though,  it 
was  the  daylit  life  of  the  town  which  knew  him. 
Excepting  once  only.  Of  this  exceptional  in 
stance  a  story  was  so  often  repeated  that  in 
time  it  became  permanently  embalmed  in  the 
unwritten  history  of  the  place. 

On  a  summer's  afternoon,  sultry  and  close, 
the  heavens  suddenly  went  all  black,  and  quick 
gusts  smote  the  earth  with  threats  of  a  great 
windstorm.  The  sun  vanished  magically;  a 
close  thick  gloaming  fell  out  of  the  clouds.  It 
was  as  though  nightfall  had  descended  hours 
before  its  ordained  time.  At  the  city  power 
house  the  city  electrician  turned  on  the  street 
lights.  As  the  first  great  fat  drops  of  rain  fell, 
splashing  in  the  dust  like  veritable  clots,  citi 
zens  scurrying  indoors  and  citizens  seeing  to 
flapping  awnings  and  slamming  window  blinds 
halted  where  they  were  to  peer  through  the 
murk  at  the  sight  of  Mr.  Dudley  Stackpole  flee 
ing  to  the  shelter  of  home  like  a  man  hunted 
by  a  terrible  pursuer.  But  with  all  his  desper 
ate  need  for  haste  he  ran  no  straightaway 
course.  The  manner  of  his  flight  was  what 
gave  added  strangeness  to  the  spectacle  of  him. 
He  would  dart  headlong,  on  a  sharp  oblique 
from  the  right-hand  corner  of  a  street  intersec 
tion  to  a  point  midway  of  the  block — or  square, 
to  give  it  its  local  name — then  go  slanting  back 
again  to  the  right-hand  corner  of  the  next  street 

crossing,  so  that  his  path  was  in  the  pattern  of 

__ 


SUNDRY      ACCOUNTS 


one  acutely  slanted  zigzag  after  another.  He 
was  keeping,  as  well  as  he  could,  within  the 
circles  of  radiance  thrown  out  by  the  municipal 
arc  lights  as  he  made  for  his  house,  there  in  his 
bedchamber  to  fortify  himself  about,  like  one 
beset  and  besieged,  with  the  ample  and  pro 
tecting  rays  of  all  the  methods  of  artificial  il 
lumination  at  his  command — with  incandescent 
bulbs  thrown  on  by  switches,  with  the  flare  of 
lighted  gas  jets,  with  the  tallow  dip's  slim  digit 
of  flame,  and  with  the  kerosene's  wick  three- 
finger  breadth  of  greasy  brilliance.  As  he  fum 
bled,  in  a  very  panic  and  spasm  of  fear,  with 
the  latchets  of  his  front  gate  Squire  Jonas'  wife 
heard  him  screaming  to  Aunt  Kassie,  his  serv 
ant,  to  turn  on  the  lights — all  of  them. 

That  once  was  all,  though — the  only  time  he 
found  the  dark  taking  him  unawares  and  threat 
ening  to  envelop  him  in  thirty  years  and  more 
than  thirty.  Then  a  time  came  when  in  a  hos 
pital  in  Oklahoma  an  elderly  man  named  A. 
Hamilton  Bledsoe  lay  on  his  deathbed  and  on 
the  day  before  he  died  told  the  physician  who 
attended  him  and  the  clergyman  who  had  called 
to  pray  for  him  that  he  had  a  confession  to 
make.  He  desired  that  it  be  taken  down  by  a 
stenographer  just  as  he  uttered  it,  and  tran 
scribed;  then  he  would  sign  it  as  his  solemn 
dying  declaration,  and  when  he  had  died  they 
were  to  send  the  signed  copy  back  to  the  town 
from  whence  he  had  in  the  year  1889  moved 
West,  and  there  it  was  to  be  published  broad- 


DARKNESS 


cast.  All  of  which,  in  due  course  of  time  and 
in  accordance  with  the  signatory's  wishes,  was 
done. 

With  the  beginning  of  the  statement  as  it 
appeared  in  the  Daily  Evening  News,  as  with 
Editor  Tompkins'  introductory  paragraphs  pre 
ceding  it,  we  need  have  no  interest.  That 
which  really  matters  began  two-thirds  of  the 
way  down  the  first  column  and  ran  as 
follows: 

"How  I  came  to  know  there  was  likely  to  be 
trouble  that  evening  at  the  big-riffle  crossing 
was  this  way" — it  is  the  dying  Bledsoe,  of 
course,  who  is  being  quoted.  "The  man  they 
sent  to  the  mill  with  the  message  did  a  lot  of 
loose  talking  on  his  way  back  after  he  gave  in 
the  message,  and  in  this  roundabout  way  the 
word  got  to  me  at  my  house  on  the  Eden's 
Swamp  road  soon  after  dinnertime.  Now  I 
had  always  got  along  fine  with  both  of  the 
Stackpoles,  and  had  only  friendly  feelings  to 
ward  them;  but  maybe  there's  some  people 
still  alive  back  there  in  that  county  who  can 
remember  what  the  reason  was  why  I  should 
naturally  hate  and  despise  both  the  Tatums, 
and  especially  this  Jess  Tatum,  him  being  if 
anything  the  more  low-down  one  of  the  two, 
although  the  youngest.  At  this  late  day  I  don't 
aim  to  drag  the  name  of  anyone  else  into  this, 
especially  a  woman's  name,  and  her  now  dead 
and  gone  and  in  her  grave;  but  I  will  just  say 
that  if  ever  a  man  had  a  just  cause  for  craving 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


to  see  Jess  Tatum  stretched  out  in  his  blood  it 
was  me.  At  the  same  time  I  will  state  that  it 
was  not  good  judgment  for  a  man  who  expected 
to  go  on  living  to  start  out  after  one  of  the 
Tatums  without  he  kept  on  till  he  had  cleaned 
up  the  both  of  them,  and  maybe  some  of  their 
cousins  as  well.  I  will  not  admit  that  I  acted 
cowardly,  but  I  will  state  that  I  used  my  best 
judgment. 

"Therefore  and  accordingly,  no  sooner  did  I 
hear  the  news  about  the  dare  which  the  Tatums 
had  sent  to  the  Stackpoles  than  I  said  to  my 
self  that  it  looked  like  here  was  my  fitting 
chance  to  even  up  my  grudge  with  Jess  Tatum 
and  yet  at  the  same  time  not  run  the  prospect 
of  being  known  to  be  mixed  up  in  the  matter 
and  maybe  getting  arrested,  or  waylaid  after 
wards  by  members  of  the  Tatum  family  or 
things  of  such  a  nature.  Likewise  I  figured 
that  with  a  general  amount  of  shooting  going 
on,  as  seemed  likely  to  be  the  case,  one  shot 
more  or  less  would  not  be  noticed,  especially 
as  I  aimed  to  keep  out  of  sight  at  all  times  and 
do  my  work  from  under  safe  cover,  which  it  all 
of  it  turned  out  practically  exactly  as  I  had  ex 
pected.  So  I  took  a  rifle  which  I  owned  and 
which  I  was  a  good  shot  with  and  I  privately 
went  down  through  the  bottoms  and  came  out 
on  the  creek  bank  in  the  deep  cut  right  behind 
Stackpole  Brothers'  gristmill.  I  should  say  off 
hand  this  was  then  about  three  o'clock  in  the 
evening.  I  was  ahead  of  time,  but  I  wished  to 


DARKNESS 


be  there  and  get  everything  fixed  up  the  way  I 
had  mapped  it  out  in  my  mind,  without  being 
hurried  or  rushed. 

"The  back  door  of  the  mill  was  not  locked, 
and  I  got  in  without  being  seen,  and  I  went 
upstairs  to  the  loft  over  the  mill  and  I  went  to 
a  window  just  above  the  front  door,  which  was 
where  they  hoisted  up  grain  when  brought  in 
wagons,  and  I  propped  the  wooden  shutter  of 
the  window  open  a  little  ways.  But  I  only 
propped  it  open  about  two  or  three  inches;  just 
enough  for  me  to  see  out  of  it  up  the  road 
good.  And  I  made  me  a  kind  of  pallet  out  of 
meal  sacks  and  I  laid  down  there  and  I  waited. 
I  knew  the  mill  had  shut  down  for  the  week, 
and  I  didn't  figure  on  any  of  the  hands  being 
round  the  mill  or  anybody  finding  out  I  was 
up  there.  So  I  waited,  not  hearing  anybody 
stirring  about  downstairs  at  all,  until  just  about 
three  minutes  past  six,  when  all  of  a  sudden 
came  the  first  shot. 

"What  threw  me  off  was  expecting  the  Ta- 
tums  to  come  afoot  from  up  the  road,  but  when 
they  did  come  it  was  in  a  wagon  from  down  the 
main  Blandsville  pike  clear  round  in  the  other 
direction.  So  at  this  first  shot  I  swung  and 
peeped  out  and  I  seen  Harve  Tatum  down  in 
the  dust  seemingly  right  under  the  wheels  of 
his  wagon,  and  I  seen  Jess  Tatum  jump  out 
from  behind  the  wagon  and  shoot,  and  I  seen 
Dudley  Stackpole  come  out  of  the  mill  door 
right  directly  under  me  and  start  shooting  back 
[37] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


at  him.  There  was  no  sign  of  his  brother  Jef 
frey.  I  did  not  know  then  that  Jeffrey  was 
home  sick  in  bed. 

"Being  thrown  off  the  way  I  had  been,  it 
took  me  maybe  one  or  two  seconds  to  draw 
myself  around  and  get  the  barrel  of  my  rifle 
swung  round  to  where  I  wanted  it,  and  while  I 
was  doing  this  the  shooting  was  going  on.  All 
in  a  flash  it  had  come  to  me  that  it  would  be 
fairer  than  ever  for  me  to  take  part  in  this 
thing,  because  in  the  first  place  the  Tatums 
would  be  two  against  one  if  Harve  should  get 
back  upon  his  feet  and  get  into  the  fight;  and 
in  the  second  place  Dudley  Stackpole  didn't 
know  the  first  thing  about  shooting  a  pistol. 
Why,  all  in  that  same  second,  while  I  was 
righting  myself  and  getting  the  bead  onto  Jess 
Tatum's  breast,  I  seen  his  first  shot — Stack- 
pole's,  I  mean — kick  up  the  dust  not  twenty 
feet  in  front  of  him  and  less  than  halfway  to 
where  Tatum  was.  I  was  as  cool  as  I  am  now, 
and  I  seen  this  quite  plain. 

"So  with  that,  just  as  Stackpole  fired  wild 
again,  I  let  Jess  Tatum  have  it  right  through 
the  chest,  and  as  I  did  so  I  knew  from  the  way 
he  acted  that  he  was  done  and  through.  He 
let  loose  of  his  pistol  and  acted  like  he  was 
going  to  fall,  and  then  he  sort  of  rallied  up  and 
did  a  strange  thing.  He  ran  straight  on  ahead 
toward  the  mill,  with  his  neck  craned  back  and 
him  running  on  tiptoe;  and  he  ran  this  way 

quite  a  little  ways  before  he  dropped  flat,  face 

__ 


DARKNESS 


down.  Somebody  else,  seeing  him  do  that, 
might  have  thought  he  had  the  idea  to  tear 
into  Dudley  Stackpole  with  his  bare  hands,  but 
I  had  done  enough  shooting  at  wild  game  in 
my  time  to  know  that  he  was  acting  like  a 
partridge  sometimes  does,  or  a  wild  duck  when 
it  is  shot  through  the  heart  or  in  the  head; 
only  in  such  a  case  a  bird  flies  straight  up  in 
the  air.  Towering  is  what  you  call  it  when 
done  by  a  partridge.  I  do  not  know  what  you 
would  call  it  when  done  by  a  man. 

"So  then  I  closed  the  window  shutter  and  I 
waited  for  quite  a  little  while  to  make  sure 
everything  was  all  right  for  me,  and  then  I  hid 
my  rifle  under  the  meal  sacks,  where  it  stayed 
until  I  got  it  privately  two  days  later;  and 
then  I  slipped  downstairs  and  went  out  by  the 
back  door  and  came  round  in  front,  running 
and  breathing  hard  as  though  I  had  just  heard 
the  shooting  whilst  up  in  the  swamp.  By  that 
time  there  were  several  others  had  arrived,  and 
there  was  also  a  negro  woman  crying  round  and 
carrying  on  and  saying  she  seen  Jess  Tatum  fire 
the  first  shot  and  seen  Dudley  Stackpole  shoot 
back  and  seen  Tatum  fall.  But  she  could  not 
say  for  sure  how  many  shots  there  were  fired 
in  all.  So  I  saw  that  everything  was  all  right 
so  far  as  I  was  concerned,  and  that  nobody, 
not  even  Stackpole,  suspicioned  but  that  he 
himself  had  killed  Jess  Tatum;  and  as  I  knew 
he  would  have  no  trouble  with  the  law  to 
amount  to  anything  on  account  of  it,  I  felt 

~fs»] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


that  there  was  no  need  for  me  to  worry,  and  I 
did  not — not  worry  then  nor  later.  But  for 
some  time  past  I  had  been  figuring  on  moving 
out  here  on  account  of  this  new  country  open 
ing  up.  So  I  hurried  up  things,  and  inside  of  a 
week  I  had  sold  out  my  place  and  had  shipped 
my  household  plunder  on  ahead;  and  I  moved 
out  here  with  my  family,  which  they  have  all 
died  off  since,  leaving  only  me.  And  now  I  am 
about  to  die,  and  so  I  wish  to  make  this  state 
ment  before  I  do  so. 

"But  if  they  had  thought  to  cut  into  Jess 
Tatum's  body  after  he  was  dead,  or  to  probe 
for  the  bullet  in  him,  they  would  have  known 
that  it  was  not  Dudley  Stackpole  who  really 
shot  him,  but  somebody  else;  and  then  I  sup 
pose  suspicion  might  have  fell  upon  me,  al 
though  I  doubt  it.  Because  they  would  have 
found  that  the  bullet  which  killed  him  was 
fired  out  of  a  forty -five-seventy  shell,  and  Dud 
ley  Stackpole  had  done  all  of  the  shooting  he 
done  with  a  thirty-eight  caliber  pistol,  which 
would  throw  a  different-sized  bullet.  But  they 
never  thought  to  do  so." 

Question  by  the  physician,  Doctor  Davis: 
"You  mean  to  say  that  no  autopsy  was  per 
formed  upon  the  body  of  the  deceased?" 

Answer  by  Bledsoe:  "If  you  mean  by  per 
forming  an  autopsy  that  they  probed  into  him 
or  cut  in  to  find  the  bullet  I  will  answer  no,  sir, 
they  did  not.  They  did  not  seem  to  think  to 
do  so,  because  it  seemed  to  everybody  such  a 
[40] 


DARKNESS 


plain  open-and-shut  case  that  Dudley  Stack- 
pole  had  killed  him." 

Question  by  the  Reverend  Mr.  Hewlitt:  "I 
take  it  that  you  are  making  this  confession  of 
your  own  free  will  and  in  order  to  clear  the 
name  of  an  innocent  party  from  blame  and  to 
purge  your  own  soul?" 

Answer:  "In  reply  to  that  I  will  say  yes 
and  no.  If  Dudley  Stackpole  is  still  alive, 
which  I  doubt,  he  is  by  now  getting  to  be  an 
old  man;  but  if  alive  yet  I  would  like  for  him 
to  know  that  he  did  not  fire  the  shot  which 
killed  Jess  Tatum  on  that  occasion.  He  was 
not  a  bloodthirsty  man,  and  doubtless  the  mat 
ter  may  have  preyed  upon  his  mind.  So  on 
the  bare  chance  of  him  being  still  alive  is  why 
I  make  this  dying  statement  to  you  gentlemen 
in  the  presence  of  witnesses.  But  I  am  not 
ashamed,  and  never  was,  at  having  done  what 
I  did  do.  I  killed  Jess  Tatum  with  my  own 
hands,  and  I  have  never  regretted  it.  I  would 
not  regard  killing  him  as  a  crime  any  more 
than  you  gentlemen  here  would  regard  it  as  a 
crime  killing  a  rattlesnake  or  a  moccasin  snake. 
Only,  until  now,  I  did  not  think  it  advisable 
for  me  to  admit  it;  which,  on  Dudley  Stack- 
pole's  account  solely,  is  the  only  reason  why  I 
am  now  making  this  statement." 

And  so  on  and  so  forth  for  the  better  part  of 

a   second   column,   with   a  brief   summary  in 

Editor  Tompkins'  best  style — which  was  a  very 

dramatic  and  moving  style  indeed — of  the  cir- 

[41] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


cumstances,  as  recalled  by  old  residents,  of  the 
ancient  tragedy,  and  a  short  sketch  of  the  de 
ceased  Bledsoe,  the  facts  regarding  him  being 
drawn  from  the  same  veracious  sources;  and 
at  the  end  of  the  article  was  a  somewhat  guarded 
but  altogether  sympathetic  reference  to  the  dis 
tressful  recollections  borne  for  so  long  and  so 
patiently  by  an  esteemed  townsman,  with  a 
concluding  paragraph  to  the  effect  that  though 
the  gentleman  in  question  had  declined  to  make 
a  public  statement  touching  on  the  remarkable 
disclosures  now  added  thus  strangely  as  a  final 
chapter  to  the  annals  of  an  event  long  since 
occurred,  the  writer  felt  no  hesitancy  in  saying 
that  appreciating,  as  they  must,  the  motives 
which  prompted  him  to  silence,  his  fellow  citi 
zens  would  one  and  all  join  the  editor  of  the 
Daily  Evening  News  in  congratulating  him  upon 
the  lifting  of  this  cloud  from  his  life. 

"I  only  wish  I  had  the  language  to  express 
the  way  that  old  man  looked  when  I  showed 
him  the  galley  proofs  of  Bledsoe's  confession," 
said  Editor  Tompkins  to  a  little  interested  group 
gathered  in  his  sanctum  after  the  paper  was  on 
the  streets  that  evening.  "If  I  had  such  a 
power  I'd  have  this  Frenchman  Balzac  backed 
clear  off  the  boards  when  it  came  to  describing 
things.  Gentlemen,  let  me  tell  you — I've  been 
in  this  business  all  my  life,  and  I've  seen  lots 
of  things,  but  I  never  saw  anything  that  was 
the  beat  of  this  thing. 

"Just  as  soon  as  this  statement  came  to  me 


DARKNESS 


in  the  mails  this  morning  from  that  place  out 
in  Oklahoma  I  rushed  it  into  type,  and  I  had 
a  set  of  galley  proofs  pulled  and  I  stuck  'em  in 
my  pocket  and  I  put  out  for  the  Stackpole  place 
out  on  Clay  Street.  I  didn't  want  to  trust 
either  of  the  reporters  with  this  job.  They're 
both  good,  smart,  likely  boys;  but,  at  that, 
they're  only  boys,  and  I  didn't  know  how  they'd 
go  at  this  thing;  and,  anyway,  it  looked  like  it 
was  my  job. 

"He  was  sitting  on  his  porch  reading,  just  a 
little  old  gray  shell  of  a  man,  all  hunched  up, 
and  I  walked  up  to  him  and  I  says:  *  You'll 
pardon  me,  Mr.  Stackpole,  but  I've  come  to 
ask  you  a  question  and  then  to  show  you  some 
thing.  Did  you,'  I  says,  'ever  know  a  man 
named  A.  Hamilton  Bledsoe?' 

"He  sort  of  winced.  He  got  up  and  made 
as  if  to  go  into  the  house  without  answering 
me.  I  suppose  it'd  been  so  long  since  he  had 
anybody  calling  on  him  he  hardly  knew  how  to 
act.  And  then  that  question  coming  out  of  a 
clear  sky,  as  you  might  say,  and  rousing  up 
bitter  memories — not  probably  that  his  bitter 
memories  needed  any  rousing,  being  always 
with  him,  anyway — may  have  jolted  him  pretty 
hard.  But  if  he  aimed  to  go  inside  he  changed 
his  mind  when  he  got  to  the  door.  He  turned 
round  and  came  back. 

"'Yes,'  he  says,  as  though  the  words  were 
being  dragged  out  of  him  against  his  will,  'I 
did  once  know  a  man  of  that  name.  He  was 
[43] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


commonly  called  Ham  Bledsoe.  He  lived  near 
where'-  — he  checked  himself  up,  here — 'he 
lived,'  he  says,  'in  this  county  at  one  time.  I 
knew  him  then.' 

:  'That  being  so,'  I  says,  'I  judge  the  proper 
thing  to  do  is  to  ask  you  to  read  these  galley 
proofs/  and  I  handed  them  over  and  he  read 
them  through  without  a  word.  Without  a  word, 
mind  you,  and  yet  if  he'd  spoken  a  volume  he 
couldn't  have  told  me  any  clearer  what  was 
passing  through  his  mind  when  he  came  to  the 
main  facts  than  the  way  he  did  tell  me  just  by 
the  look  that  came  into  his  face.  Gentlemen, 
when  you  sit  and  watch  a  man  sixty-odd  years 
old  being  born  again;  when  you  see  hope  and 
life  come  back  to  him  all  in  a  minute;  when 
you  see  his  soul  being  remade  in  a  flash,  you'll 
find  you  can't  describe  it  afterwards,  but  you're 
never  going  to  forget  it.  And  another  thing 
you'll  find  is  that  there  is  nothing  for  you  to 
say  to  him,  nothing  that  you  can  say,  nor  noth 
ing  that  you  want  to  say. 

"I  did  manage,  when  he  was  through,  to  ask 
him  whether  or  not  he  wished  to  make  a  state 
ment.  That  was  all  from  me,  mind  you,  and 
yet  I'd  gone  out  there  with  the  idea  in  my 
head  of  getting  material  for  a  long  newsy  piece 
out  of  him — what  we  call  in  this  business  heart- 
interest  stuff.  All  he  said,  though,  as  he  handed 
me  back  the  slips  was,  'No,  sir;  but  I  thank 
you — from  the  bottom  of  my  heart  I  thank 
you.'  And  then  he  shook  hands  with  me— 


DARKNESS 


shook  hands  with  me  like  a  man  who'd  forgot 
ten  almost  how  'twas  done — and  he  walked  in 
his  house  and  shut  the  door  behind  him,  and  I 
came  on  away  feeling  exactly  as  though  I  had 
seen  a  funeral  turned  into  a  resurrection." 

Editor  Tompkins  thought  he  had  that  day 
written  the  final  chapter,  but  he  hadn't.  The 
final  chapter  he  was  to  write  the  next  day,  fol 
lowing  hard  upon  a  denouement  which  to  Mr. 
Tompkins,  he  with  his  own  eyes  having  seen 
what  he  had  seen,  was  so  profound  a  puzzle 
that  ever  thereafter  he  mentally  catalogued  it 
under  one  of  his  favorite  headlining  phrases: 
"Deplorable  Affair  Shrouded  in  Mystery." 

Let  us  go  back  a  few  hours.  For  a  fact,  Mr. 
Tompkins  had  been  witness  to  a  spirit's  resur 
rection.  It  was  as  he  had  borne  testimony — a 
life  had  been  reborn  before  his  eyes.  Even  so, 
he,  the  sole  spectator  to  and  chronicler  of  the 
glory  of  it,  could  not  know  the  depth  and  the 
sweep  and  the  swing  of  the  great  heartening 
swell  of  joyous  relief  which  uplifted  Dudley 
Stackpole  at  the  reading  of  the  dead  Bledsoe's 
words.  None  save  Dudley  Stackpole  himself 
was  ever  to  have  a  true  appreciation  of  the 
utter  sweetness  of  that  cleansing  flood,  nor  he 
for  long. 

As  he  closed  his  door  upon  the  editor,  plans, 

aspirations,  ambitions  already  were  flowing  to 

his  brain,  borne  there  upon  that  ground  swell 

of  sudden  happiness.     Into  the  back  spaces  of 

[45] 


SUNDRY      ACCOUNTS 


his  mind  long-buried  desires  went  riding  like 
chips  upon  a  torrent.  The  substance  of  his 
patiently  endured  self -martyrdom  was  lifted  all 
in  a  second,  and  with  it  the  shadow  of  it.  He 
would  be  thenceforth  as  other  men,  living  as 
they  lived,  taking,  as  they  did,  an  active  share 
and  hand  in  communal  life.  He  was  getting 
old.  The  good  news  had  come  late,  but  not 
too  late.  That  day  would  mark  the  total  dis 
appearance  of  the  morbid  lonely  recluse  and 
the  rejuvenation  of  the  normal-thinking,  nor 
mal-habited  citizen.  That  very  day  he  would 
make  a  beginning  of  the  new  order  of  things. 

And  that  very  day  he  did;  at  least  he  tried. 
He  put  on  his  hat  and  he  took  his  cane  in  his 
hand  and  as  he  started  down  the  street  he 
sought  to  put  smartness  and  springiness  into 
his  gait.  If  the  attempt  was  a  sorry  failure  he, 
for  one,  did  not  appreciate  the  completeness  of 
the  failure.  He  meant,  anyhow,  that  his  step 
no  longer  should  be  purposeless  and  mechan 
ical;  that  his  walk  should  hereafter  have  intent 
in  it.  And  as  he  came  down  the  porch  steps 
he  looked  about  him,  not  dully,  with  sick  and 
uninforming  eyes,  but  with  a  livened  interest 
in  all  familiar  homely  things. 

Coming  to  his  gate  he  saw,  near  at  hand, 
Squire  Jonas,  now  a  gnarled  but  still  sprightly 
octogenarian,  leaning  upon  a  fence  post  survey 
ing  the  universe  at  large,  as  was  the  squire's 
daily  custom.  He  called  out  a  good  morning 
and  waved  his  stick  in  greeting  toward  the 
[46]"  " 


DARKNESS 


squire  with  a  gesture  which  he  endeavored  to 
make  natural.  His  aging  muscles,  staled  by 
thirty-odd  years  of  lack  of  practice  at  such 
tricks,  merely  made  it  jerky  and  forced.  Still, 
the  friendly  design  was  there,  plainly  to  be 
divined;  and  the  neighborly  tone  of  his  voice. 
But  the  squire,  ordinarily  the  most  courteous 
of  persons,  and  certainly  one  of  the  most  talka 
tive,  did  not  return  the  salutation.  Astonish 
ment  congealed  his  faculties,  tied  his  tongue 
and  paralyzed  his  biceps.  He  stared  dumbly  a 
moment,  and  then,  having  regained  coherent 
powers,  he  jammed  his  brown- varnished  straw 
hat  firmly  upon  his  ancient  poll  and  went  scram 
bling  up  his  gravel  walk  as  fast  as  two  rheu 
matic  underpinnings  would  take  him,  and  on 
into  his  house  like  a  man  bearing  incredible 
and  unbelievable  tidings. 

Mr.  Stackpole  opened  his  gate  and  passed 
out  and  started  down  the  sidewalk.  Midway 
of  the  next  square  he  overtook  a  man  he  knew 
—an  elderly  watchmaker,  a  Swiss  by  birth, 
who  worked  at  Nagel's  jewelry  store.  Hun 
dreds,  perhaps  thousands  of  times  he  had  passed 
this  man  upon  the  street.  Always  before  he 
had  passed  him  with  averted  eyes  and  a  stiff 
nod  of  recognition.  Now,  coming  up  behind 
the  other,  Mr.  Stackpole  bade  him  a  cheerful 
good  day.  At  the  sound  of  the  words  the  Swiss 
spun  on  his  heel,  then  gulped  audibly  and 
backed  away,  flinching  almost  as  though  a  blow 
had  been  aimed  at  him.  He  muttered  some 
[47] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 

meaningless  something,  confusedly:  he  stared 
at  Mr.  Stackpole  with  widened  eyes  like  one 
who  beholds  an  apparition  in  the  broad  of  the 
day;  he  stepped  on  his  own  feet  and  got  in  his 
own  way  as  he  shrank  to  the  outer  edge  of  the 
narrow  pavement.  Mr.  Stackpole  was  minded 
to  fall  into  step  alongside  the  Swiss,  but  the 
latter  would  not  have  it  so.  He  stumbled 
along  for  a  few  yards,  mute  and  plainly  terri 
bly  embarrassed  at  finding  himself  in  this  un 
expected  company,  and  then  with  a  muttered 
sound  which  might  be  interpreted  as  an  apol 
ogy  or  an  explanation,  or  as  a  token  of  pro 
found  surprise  on  his  part,  or  as  combination 
of  them  all,  he  turned  abruptly  off  into  a  grassed 
side  lane  which  ran  up  into  the  old  Enders 
orchard  and  ended  nowhere  at  all  in  particular. 
Once  his  back  was  turned  to  Mr.  Stackpole,  he 
blessed  himself  fervently.  On  his  face  was  the 
look  of  one  who  would  fend  off  what  is  evil  and 
supernatural. 

Mr.  Stackpole  continued  on  his  way.  On  a 
vacant  lot  at  Franklin  and  Clay  Streets  four 
small  boys  were  playing  one-eyed-cat.  Switch 
ing  his  cane  at  the  weed  tops  with  strokes  which 
he  strove  to  make  casual,  he  stopped  to  watch 
them,  a  half  smile  of  approbation  on  his  face. 
Pose  and  expression  showed  that  he  desired 
their  approval  for  his  approval  of  their  skill. 
They  stopped,  too,  when  they  saw  him — stopped 
short.  With  one  accord  they  ceased  their 
play,  staring  at  him.  Nervously  the  batsman 
[48] 


DARKNESS 


withdrew  to  the  farther  side  of  the  common, 
dragging  his  bat  behind  him.  The  three  others 
followed,  casting  furtive  looks  backward  over 
their  shoulders.  Under  a  tree  at  the  back  of 
the  lot  they  conferred  together,  all  the  while 
shooting  quick  diffident  glances  toward  where 
he  stood.  It  was  plain  something  had  put  a 
blight  upon  their  spirits;  also,  even  at  this  dis 
tance,  they  radiated  a  sort  of  inarticulate  sus 
picion — a  suspicion  of  which  plainly  he  was 
the  object. 

For  long  years  Mr.  Stackpole's  faculties  for 
observation  of  the  motives  and  actions  of  his 
fellows  had  been  sheathed.  Still,  disuse  had 
not  altogether  dulled  them.  Constant  intro 
spection  had  not  destroyed  his  gift  for  specula 
tion.  It  was  rusted,  but  still  workable.  He 
had  read  aright  Squire  Jonas'  stupefaction,  the 
watchmaker's  ludicrous  alarm.  He  now  read 
aright  the  chill  which  the  very  sight  of  his  al 
tered  mien — cheerful  and  sprightly  where  they 
had  expected  grim  aloofness — had  thrown  upon 
the  spirits  of  the  ball  players.  Well,  he  could 
understand  it  all.  The  alteration  in  him,  com 
ing  without  prior  warning,  had  startled  them, 
frightened  them,  really.  Well,  that  might  have 
been  expected.  The  way  had  not  been  paved 
properly  for  the  transformation.  It  would  be 
different  when  the  Daily  Evening  News  came 
out.  He  would  go  back  home — he  would  wait. 
When  they  had  read  what  was  in  the  paper 
people  would  not  avoid  him  or  flee  from  him. 

[49] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


They  would  be  coming  into  his  house  to  wish 
him  well,  to  reestablish  old  relations  with  him. 
Why,  it  would  be  almost  like  holding  a  recep 
tion.  He  would  be  to  those  of  his  own  age  as 
a  friend  of  their  youth,  returning  after  a  long 
absence  to  his  people,  with  the  dour  stranger 
who  had  lived  in  his  house  while  he  was  away 
now  driven  out  and  gone  forever. 

He  turned  about  and  he  went  back  home 
and  he  waited.  But  for  a  while  nothing  hap 
pened,  except  that  in  the  middle  of  the  after 
noon  Aunt  Kassie  unaccountably  disappeared. 
She  was  gone  when  he  left  his  seat  on  the  front 
porch  and  went  back  to  the  kitchen  to  give  her 
some  instruction  touching  on  supper.  At  din 
nertime,  entering  his  dining  room,  he  had,  with 
out  conscious  intent  whistled  the  bars  of  an  old 
air,  and  at  that  she  had  dropped  a  plate  of  hot 
egg  bread  and  vanished  into  the  pantry,  leav 
ing  the  split  fragments  upon  the  floor.  Nor 
had  she  returned.  He  had  made  his  meal  un 
attended.  Now,  while  he  looked  for  her,  she 
was  hurrying  down  the  alley,  bound  for  the 
home  of  her  preacher.  She  felt  the  need  of  his 
holy  counsels  and  the  reading  of  scriptural  pass 
ages.  She  was  used  to  queerness  in  her  master, 
but  if  he  were  going  crazy  all  of  a  sudden,  why 
that  would  be  a  different  matter  altogether. 
So,  presently,  she  was  confiding  to  her  spiritual 
adviser. 

Mr.  Stackpole  returned  to  the  porch  and  sat 
down  again  and  waited  for  what  was  to  be. 
[50] 


DARKNESS 


Through  the  heat  of  the  waning  afternoon  Clay 
Street  was  almost  deserted;  but  toward  sun 
set  the  thickening  tides  of  pedestrian  travel 
began  flowing  by  his  house  as  men  returned 
homeward  from  work.  He  had  a  bowing  ac 
quaintance  with  most  of  those  who  passed. 

Two  or  three  elderly  men  and  women  among 
them  he  had  known  fairly  well  in  years  past. 
But  no  single  one  of  those  who  came  along 
turned  in  at  his  gate  to  offer  him  the  congratu 
lation  he  so  egerly  desired;  no  single  one,  at 
sight  of  him,  all  poised  and  expectant,  paused 
to  call  out  kindly  words  across  the  palings  of 
his  fence.  Yet  they  must  have  heard  the  news. 
He  knew  that  they  had  heard  it — all  of  them 
—knew  it  by  the  stares  they  cast  toward  the 
house  front  as  they  went  by.  There  was  more, 
though,  in  the  staring  than  a  quickened  inter 
est  or  a  sharpened  curiosity. 

Was  he  wrong,  or  was  there  also  a  sort  of 
subtle  resentment  in  it?  Was  there  a  sense 
vaguely  conveyed  that  even  these  old  acquaint 
ances  of  his  felt  almost  personally  aggrieved 
that  a  town  character  should  have  ceased  thus 
abruptly  to  be  a  town  character — that  they 
somehow  felt  a  subtle  injustice  had  been  done 
to  public  opinion,  an  affront  offered  to  civic 
tradition,  through  this  unexpected  sloughing 
off  by  him  of  the  role  he  for  so  long  had 
worn? 

He  was  not  wrong.    There  was  an  essence  of 
a  floating,  formless  resentment  there.    Over  the 
[51] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


invisible  tendons  of  mental  telepathy  it  came 
to  him,  registering  emphatically. 

As  he  shrank  back  in  his  chair  he  summoned 
his  philosophy  to  give  him  balm  and  consola 
tion  for  his  disappointment.  It  would  take 
time,  of  course,  for  people  to  grow  accustomed 
to  the  change  in  him — that  was  only  natural. 
In  a  few  days,  now,  when  the  shock  of  the  sen 
sation  had  worn  off,  things  would  be  different. 
They  would  forgive  him  for  breaking  a  sort  of 
unuttered  communal  law,  but  one  hallowed,  as 
it  were,  by  rote  and  custom.  He  vaguely  com 
prehended  that  there  might  be  such  a  law  for 
his  case — a  canon  of  procedure  which,  unnatu 
ral  in  itself,  had  come  with  the  passage  of  the 
passing  years  to  be  quite  naturally  accepted. 

Well,  perhaps  the  man  who  broke  such  a  law, 
even  though  it  were  originally  of  his  own  fash 
ioning,  must  abide  the  consequences.  Even  so, 
though,  things  must  be  different  when  the 
minds  of  people  had  readjusted.  This  he  told 
himself  over  and  over  again,  seeking  in  its 
steady  repetition  salve  for  his  hurt,  overwrought 
feelings. 

And  his  nights — surely  they  would  be  differ 
ent!  Therein,  after  all,  lay  the  roots  of  the 
peace  and  the  surcease  which  henceforth  would 
be  his  portion.  At  thought  of  this  prospect, 
now  imminent,  he  uplifted  his  soul  in  a  silent 
paean  of  thanksgiving. 

Having  no  one  in  whom  he  ever  had  con 
fided,  it  followed  naturally  that  no  one  else 
[52] 


DARKNESS 


knew  what  torture  he  had  suffered  through  all 
the  nights  of  all  these  years  stretching  behind 
him  in  so  terribly  long  a  perspective.  No  one 
else  knew  how  he  had  craved  for  the  darkness 
which  all  the  time  he  had  both  feared  and 
shunned.  No  one  else  knew  how  miserable  a 
travesty  on  sleep  his  sleep  had  been,  he  read 
ing  until  a  heavy  physical  weariness  came,  then 
lying  in  his  bed  through  the  latter  hours  of  the 
night,  fitfully  dozing,  often  rousing,  while  from 
either  side  of  his  bed,  from  the  ceiling  above, 
from  the  headboard  behind  him,  and  from  the 
footboard,  strong  lights  played  full  and  flary 
upon  his  twitching,  aching  eyelids;  and  finally, 
towards  dawn,  with  every  nerve  behind  his  eyes 
taut  with  pain  and  strain,  awakening  unre- 
freshed  to  consciousness  of  that  nimbus  of  un 
relieved  false  glare  which  encircled  him,  and 
the  stench  of  melted  tallow  and  the  stale  reek 
of  burned  kerosene  foul  in  his  nose.  That, 
now,  had  been  the  hardest  of  all  to  endure. 
Endured  unceasingly,  it  had  been  because  of 
his  dread  of  a  thing  infinitely  worse — the  agon 
ized,  twisted,  dying  face  of  Jess  Tatum  leaping 
at  him  out  of  shadows.  But  now,  thank  God, 
that  ghost  of  his  own  conjuring,  that  wraith 
never  seen  but  always  feared,  was  laid  to  rest 
forever.  Never  again  would  conscience  put 
him,  soul  and  body,  upon  the  rack.  This  night 
he  would  sleep — sleep  as  little  children  do  in 
the  all-enveloping,  friendly,  comforting  dark. 
Scarcely  could  he  wait  till  a  proper  bedtime 
T53] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


hour  came.  He  forgot  that  he  had  had  no  sup 
per;  forgot  in  that  delectable  anticipation  the 
disillusionizing  experiences  of  the  day.  Me 
chanically  he  had,  as  dusk  came  on,  turned  on 
the  lights  throughout  the  house,  and  force  of 
habit  still  operating,  he  left  them  all  on  when 
at  eleven  o'clock  he  quitted  the  brilliantly  il 
luminated  porch  and  went  to  his  bedroom  on 
the  second  floor.  He  undressed  and  he  put 
on  him  his  night  wear,  becoming  a  grotesque 
shrunken  figure,  what  with  his  meager  naked 
legs  and  his  ashen  eager  face  and  thin  dust- 
colored  throat  rising  above  the  collarless  neck 
band  of  the  garment.  He  blew  out  the  flame 
of  the  oil  lamp  which  burned  on  a  reading 
stand  at  the  left  side  of  his  bed  and  extin 
guished  the  two  candles  which  stood  on  a  table 
at  the  right  side. 

Then  he  got  in  the  bed  and  stretched  out  his 
arms,  one  aloft,  the  other  behind  him,  finding 
with  the  fingers  of  this  hand  the  turncock  of 
the  gas  burner  which  swung  low  from  the  ceil 
ing  at  the  end  of  a  goosenecked  iron  pipe,  find 
ing  with  the  fingers  of  that  hand  the  wall 
switch  which  controlled  the  battery  of  electric 
lights  roundabout,  and  with  a  long-drawn  sigh 
of  happy  deliverance  he  turned  off  both  gas 
and  electricity  simultaneously  and  sank  his  head 
toward  the  pillow. 

The  pseaned  sigh  turned  to  a  shriek  of  mor 
tal  terror.  Quaking  in  every  limb,  crying  out 
in  a  continuous  frenzy  of  fright,  he  was  up  again 
[54]  ' 


DARKNESS 


on  his  knees  seeking  with  quivering  hands  for 
the  switch;  pawing  about  then  for  matches 
with  which  to  relight  the  gas.  For  the  black 
ness—that  blackness  to  which  he  had  been 
stranger  for  more  than  half  his  life — had  come 
upon  him  as  an  enemy  smothering  him,  muffling 
his  head  in  its  terrible  black  folds,  stopping  his 
nostrils  with  its  black  fingers,  gripping  his  wind 
pipe  with  black  cords,  so  that  his  breathing 
stopped. 

That  blackness  for  which  he  had  craved 
with  an  unappeasable  hopeless  craving  through 
thirty  years  and  more  was  become  a  horror 
and  a  devil.  He  had  driven  it  from  him. 
When  he  bade  it  return  it  returned  not  as  a 
friend  and  a  comforter  but  as  a  mocking  fiend. 

For  months  and  years  past  he  had  realized 
that  his  optic  nerves,  punished  and  preyed 
upon  by  constant  and  unwholesome  brilliancy, 
were  nearing  the  point  of  collapse,  and  that 
all  the  other  nerves  in  his  body,  frayed  and 
fretted,  too,  were  all  askew  and  jangled. 
Cognizant  of  this  he  still  could  see  no  hope  of 
relief,  since  his  fears  were  greater  than  his  rea 
soning  powers  or  his  strength  of  will.  With 
the  fear  lifted  and  eternally  dissipated  in  a 
breath,  he  had  thought  to  find  solace  and  sooth 
ing  and  restoration  in  the  darkness.  But  now 
the  darkness,  for  which  his  soul  in  its  longing 
and  his  body  in  its  stress  had  cried  out  unceas 
ingly  and  vainly,  was  denied  him  too.  He 
could  face  neither  the  one  thing  nor  the  other. 
[55] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


Squatted  there  in  the  huddle  of  the  bed  cov 
erings,  he  reasoned  it  all  out,  and  presently  he 
found  the  answer.     And  the  answer  was  this: 
Nature  for  a  while  forgets  and  forgives  offenses 
against  her,  but  there  comes  a  time  when  Na 
ture  ceases  to  forgive  the  mistreatment  of  the 
body  and  the  mind,  and  sends  then  her  law  of 
atonement,  to  be  visited  upon  the  transgressor 
with  interest  compounded  a  hundredfold.    The 
user  of  narcotics  knows  it;  the  drunkard  knows 
it;  and    this    poor    self -crucified  victim  of  his 
own  imagination — he  knew  it  too.     The  hint 
of  it  had  that  day  been  reflected  in  the  atti 
tude  of  his  neighbors,   for  they  merely   had 
obeyed,  without  conscious  realization  or  analy 
sis  on  their  part,  a  law  of  the  natural  scheme 
of  things.    The  direct  proof  of  it  was,  by  this 
nighttime  thing,  revealed  and  made  yet  plainer. 
He  stood  convicted,  a  chronic  violator  of  the 
immutable  rule.    And  he  knew,  likewise,  there 
was  but  one  way  out  of  the  coil — and  took  it, 
there  in  his  bedroom,  vividly  ringed  about  by 
the  obscene  and  indecent  circlet  of  his  lights 
which  kept  away  the  blessed,  cursed  darkness 
while  the  suicide's  soul  was  passing. 


[56] 


CHAPTER  II 
THE    CATER-CORNERED    SEX 


THEY  had  a  saying  down  our  way  in  the 
old  days  that  Judge  Priest  adminis 
tered  law  inside  his  courthouse  and  jus 
tice  outside  of  it.  Perhaps  they  were 
right.  Certainly  he  had  a  way  of  seeking  short 
cuts  through  thickets  of  legal  verbiage  to  the 
rights  of  things,  the  which  often  gave  acute 
sorrow  to  the  souls  of  those  members  of  the 
bar  who  venerated  the  very  ink  in  which  the 
statutory  act  had  been  printed  and  worshiped 
mainfully  before  the  graven  images  of  prece 
dent.  Rut  elsewise,  generally  speaking,  it 
appeared  to  give  satisfaction.  Nobody  ever 
beat  the  judge  in  any  of  his  races  for  reelec 
tion,  and  after  a  while  they  just  naturally  quit 
trying. 

Nor  did  it  seem  to  distress  him  deeply  when 
the  grave  and  learned  lords  of  the  highest  tri 
bunal  of  the  commonwealth  saw  fit,  as  they 
sometimes  did,  to  quarrel  with  a  decision  of 
his  which,  according  to  their  lights,  ran  counter 
[57] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


to  the  authorities  and  the  traditions  revered 
by  these  august  gentlemen. 

"Ah-hah!"  he  would  say  in  his  high  penny- 
flute  voice  when  such  a  thing  happened.  "I 
see  where  the  honorable  court  of  appeals  has 
disagreed  with  me  agin.  Well,  they've  still  got 
quite  a  piece  to  go  yit  before  they  ketch  up 
with  the  number  of  times  I've  disagreed  with 
them." 

But  he  never  said  such  a  thing  in  open  court. 
Such  utterances  he  reserved  for  his  cronies  and 
confidants.  Once  he  was  under  the  dented  tin 
dome  where  he  sat  for  so  many  years  he  be 
came  so  firm  a  stickler  for  the  forms  and  the 
dignities  that  practically  a  sacerdotal  air  was 
imparted  to  the  proceedings.  As  you  might 
say,  he  was  almost  high  church  in  his  adher 
ence  to  the  ritualisms.  Lawyers  coming  before 
him  did  not  practice  the  law  in  their  shirt 
sleeves.  They  might  do  this  when  appearing 
on  certain  neighbor  circuits,  but  not  here.  They 
did  not  smoke  while  court  was  in  session,  or  sit 
reared  back  in  their  chairs  with  their  feet  up 
on  the  counsel  tables  and  on  the  bar  railings. 
Of  course  when  not  actually  engaged  in  ad 
dressing  the  court  one  might  chew  tobacco  in 
moderation,  it  being  an  indisputable  fact  that 
such  was  conducive  to  lubrication  of  the  men 
tal  processes  and  a  sedative  for  the  nerves  be 
sides;  but  the  act  of  chewing  must  be  dis 
creetly  and  inaudibly  carried  on,  and  he  who 
in  the  heat  of  argument  or  under  the  stress  of 
[58] 


THE      CATER-CORNERED      SEX 

cross-questioning  a  perverse  witness  failed  to 
patronize  the  cuspidors  which  dotted  the  floor 
at  suitable  intervals  stood  in  peril  of  a  stern 
admonishment  for  the  first  offense  and  a  fine 
for  the  second. 

Off  the  bench  our  judge  was  the  homeliest 
and  simplest  of  men.  On  the  bench  he  wore 
his  baggy  old  alpaca  coat  as  though  it  were  a 
silken  robe.  And,  as  has  been  heretofore  re 
marked,  he  had  for  his  official  and  his  private 
lives  two  different  modes  of  speech.  As  His 
Honor,  presiding,  his  language  was  invariably 
grammatical  and  precise  and  as  carefully  ac 
cented  as  might  be  expected  of  a  man  whose 
people  never  had  very  much  use  anyway  for 
the  consonant  "r."  As  William  Pitman  Priest, 
Esq.,  citizen,  taxpayer,  and  Confederate  vet 
eran  he  mishandled  the  king's  English  as  though 
he  had  but  small  personal  regard  for  the  king 
or  his  English  either. 

Similarly  he  always  showed  respect,  out 
wardly  at  least,  for  the  written  letter  of  the 
statute  as  written  and  cited.  But  when  it 
seemed  to  him  that  justice  tempered  with  mercy 
stood  in  danger  of  being  choked  in  a  lawyer's 
loop  of  red  tape  he  sheared  through  the  entan 
glements  with  a  promptitude  which  appealed 
more  strongly,  perhaps,  to  the  lay  mind  than 
to  the  professional.  And  if,  from  the  bench,  he 
might  not  succor  the  deserving  litigant  or  the 
penitent  offender  without  violation  to  the  given 
principles  of  the  law,  which,  aiming  ever  for 

[59] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


the  greater  good  to  the  greater  number,  threat 
ened  present  disaster  for  one  deserving,  he  very 
often  privily  would  busy  himself  in  the  mat 
ter.  This,  then,  was  why  they  had  that  saying 
about  him. 

It  largely  was  in  a  private  capacity  that 
Judge  Priest  figured  in  the  various  phases  re 
lating  to  the  Millsap  case,  with  which  now  we 
are  about  to  deal.  The  beginning  of  this  was 
the  ending  of  Felix  Millsap,  but  from  its  start 
to  its  finish  he  alone  held  the  secrets  of  all  its 
aspects.  The  best  people  in  town,  those  who 
made  up  the  old  families,  knew  the  daughter 
of  this  Felix  Millsap;  the  people  whose  fam 
ilies  were  not  so  old  perhaps,  but  by  way  of 
compensation  more  likely  to  be  large  ones,  the 
common  people,  as  the  word  goes,  knew  the 
father.  The  best  people  commiserated  deco 
rously  with  the  daughter  when  her  father  was 
abruptly  taken  from  this  life;  the  others  won 
dered  what  was  going  to  become  of  his  widow. 
For,  you  see,  the  daughter  moved  in  very  dif 
ferent  circles  from  the  one  in  which  her  parents 
moved.  Their  lines  did  not  touch.  But  Judge 
Priest  had  the  advantage  on  his  side  of  moving 
at  will  in  both  circles.  Indeed  he  moved  in  all 
circles  without  serious  impairment  to  his  social 
position  in  the  community  at  large. 

Briefly,  the  case  of  her  who  had  been  Eleanor 

Millsap  was  the  case  of  a  child  who,  diligently 

climbing  out  of  the  environment  of  her  child  - 

hood,  has  attained  to  heights  where  her  parents 

[60] 


THE      CATER-CORNERED      SEX 

may  never  hope  to  come,  a  common  enough 
case  here  in  flux  and  fluid  America,  and  one 
which  some  will  applaud  and  some  will  deplore, 
depending  on  how  they  view  such  matters;  a 
daughter  proclaiming  by  her  attitude  that 
she  is  ashamed  of  the  sources  of  her  origin;  a 
father  and  a  mother  visibly  proud  of  their  off 
spring's  successful  rise,  yet  uncomplainingly  ac 
cepting  the  roles  to  which  she  has  assigned 
them — there  you  have  this  small  family  trag 
edy  in  forty  words  or  less. 

When  the  Millsaps  moved  to  our  town  their 
baby  was  in  her  second  summer.  With  the 
passage  of  years  the  father  and  the  mother 
came,  as  suitably  mated  couples  often  do,  to 
look  rather  like  each  other.  But  then,  prob 
ably  there  never  had  been  a  time  when  they, 
either  in  temperament  or  port,  had  appeared 
greatly  unlike,  seeing  that  both  the  pair  were 
colorless,  prosaic  folk.  So  for  Nature  to  mold 
them  into  a  common  pattern  was  merely  a  de 
tail  of  time  and  patience.  But  their  little 
Eleanor  betrayed  no  resemblance  to  either  in 
figure  or  face  or  personality.  It  was  in  this  in 
stance  as  though  hereditary  traits  had  been 
thwarted;  as  though  two  sober  barnyard  fowl 
had  mated  to  bear  a  golden  pheasant.  They 
were  secluded,  shy,  unimaginative;  she  was 
vivid  and  sprightly,  with  dash  to  her,  and 
audacity. 

They  lived  in  one  of  those  small  gloomy 
houses  whose  shutters  always  are  closed  and 

[61]      


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


whose  fronts  always  are  blank;  a  house  where 
the  business  of  living  seems  to  be  carried  on 
surreptitiously,  almost  by  stealth.  She,  from 
the  time  she  could  walk  alone,  was  actively 
abroad,  a  bright  splash  of  color  in  the  small 
oblong  of  shabby  front  yard.  The  father,  Felix 
Millsap,  was  an  odd-jobs  woodworker.  He 
made  his  living  by  undertakings  too  trivial  for 
a  contracting  carpenter  and  joiner  to  bid  on 
and  too  complicated  for  an  amateur  to  at 
tempt.  The  mother,  Martha  by  name,  took  in 
plain  sewing  to  help  out.  She  had  about  her 
the  air  of  the  needle  drudge,  with  shoulders 
bowed  in  and  the  pricked,  scored  fingers  of  a 
seamstress,  and  a  permanent  pucker  at  one 
corner  of  her  mouth  from  holding  pins  there. 
The  daughter  showed  trim,  slender  limbs  and 
a  bodily  grace  and  a  piquant  face  which  gener 
ations  of  breeding  and  wealth  so  very  often 
fail  to  fashion. 

When  she  graduated  as  the  valedictorian  of 
her  class  in  the  high  school  she  cut  a  far  better 
figure  in  the  frock  her  mother  had  made  for 
her  than  did  any  there  on  the  stage  at  St.  Clair 
Hall;  she  had  a  trick  of  wearing  simple  gar 
ments  which  gave  them  distinction.  Already 
she  had  half  a  dozen  sweethearts.  Boys  were 
drawn  to  her;  girls  she  repelled  rather.  Girls 
found  her  too  self-centered,  too  intent  on  at 
taining  her  own  aims  to  give  much  heed  to 
companionships.  They  called  her  selfish.  Well, 
if  selfishness  is  another  name  for  a  constant, 


THE      CATER-CORNERED     SEX 

bounding  ambition  to  get  on  and  up  in  the 
world  Eleanor  Millsap  was  selfish.  But  for  the 
boys  she  had  a  tremendous  attraction.  They 
admired  her  quick,  cruel  wit,  her  energy,  her 
good  looks.  She  met  her  sweethearts  on  the 
street,  at  the  soda  fountain,  in  that  trysting 
place  for  juvenile  sweetheartings,  the  far  cor 
ner  of  the  post-office  corridor. 

She  never  invited  any  of  these  youthful 
squires  of  hers  to  her  house;  they  kept  ren 
dezvous  with  her  at  the  corner  below  and  they 
parted  from  her  at  the  gate.  They  somehow 
gathered,  without  being  told  it  in  so  many 
words,  that  she  was  ashamed  of  the  poverty  of 
her  home,  and,  boylike,  they  felt  a  dumb  sym 
pathy  for  her  that  she  should  be  denied  what 
so  many  girls  had.  But  for  all  her  sidewalk 
flirtations,  she  kept  herself  aloof  from  any  touch 
of  scandal;  the  very  openness  of  her  gaddings 
protected  her  from  that.  Besides,  she  seemed 
instinctively  to  know  that  if  she  meant  to  make 
the  'best  possible  bargain  for  herself  in  life  she 
must  keep  herself  unblemished — must  give  of 
her  charms  but  not  give  too  freely.  Town  gos 
sips  might  call  her  a  forward  piece,  as  they  did ; 
jealousy  among  girls  of  her  own  age  might  have 
it  that  she  was  flip  and  fresh;  but  no  one,  with 
truth,  might  brand  her  as  fast. 

Having  graduated  with  honors,  she  learned 

stenography — learned  it  thoroughly  and  well, 

as  was  her  way  with  whatever  she  undertook 

— and   presently   found   a   place   as   secretary 

[  63  ] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


to  Dallam  Wybrant,  the  leading  merchandise 
broker  of  the  three  in  town.  Now  Dallam  Wy 
brant  was  youngish  and  newly  widowed — be 
reft  but  rallying  fast  from  the  grief  of  losing 
a  wife  who  had  been  his  senior  by  several 
years.  Knowing  people — persons  who  could 
look  through  a  grindstone  as  far  as  the  next 
one,  and  maybe  farther — smiled  with  meaning 
when  they  considered  the  prospect.  A  good- 
looking,  shrewd  girl,  always  smart  and  trig  and 
crisp,  always  with  an  eye  open  for  the  main 
chance,  sitting  hour  by  hour  and  day  by  day 
in  the  same  office  with  a  lonely,  impressionable, 
conceited  man — well,  there  was  but  one  answer 
to  it.  But  one  answer  to  it  there  was.  No 
body  was  very  much  surprised,  although  prob 
ably  some  mothers  with  marriageable  daughters 
on  their  hands  were  wrung  by  pangs  of  envy, 
when  Dallam  Wybrant  and  Eleanor  Millsap 
slipped  away  one  day  to  Memphis  and  there 
were  married. 

As  Eleanor  Millsap,  self-reliant,  self-sufficient 
and  latterly  self-supporting,  the  girl  through 
the  years  had  steadily  been  growing  out  of  the 
domestic  orbit  which  bounded  the  lires  of  her 
parents.  As  Mrs.  Dallam  Wybrant,  bride  of 
an  up-and-coming  business  man,  with  an  as 
sured  social  position  and  wealth — as  our  town 
measured  wealth — in  his  own  name  she  was 
now  to  pass  entirely  beyond  their  humble  hori 
zon  and  vanish  out  of  their  narrowed  social 
ken.  True  enough,  they  ket  right  on  living, 


THE      C  A  T  E  R  -  C  O  R  N  E  R  E  D     SEX 

all  three  of  them,  in  the  same  town  and  indeed 
upon  paralleling  and  adjacent  streets;  only  the 
parents  lived  in  their  shabby  little  sealed-up 
coffin  box  of  a  house  down  at  the  poorer  end 
of  Yazoo  Street;  the  daughter,  in  her  hand 
some  new  stucco  house,  as  formal  and  slick  as 
a  wedding  cake,  up  at  the  aristocratic  head  of 
Chickasaw  Drive.  And  yet  to  all  intents  and 
purposes  they  were  as  far  apart,  these  two  Mill- 
saps  and  their  only  child,  as  though  they  abode 
in  different  countries.  For  she,  mind  you,  had 
been  taken  up  by  the  best  people.  But  none 
of  the  best  people  had  the  least  intention  of 
taking  up  her  father  and  mother  as  well.  She 
probably  was  as  far  from  expecting  it  or  desir 
ing  it  as  any  other  could  be.  In  fact  a  tale  ran 
about  that  she  served  notice  upon  her  parents 
that  thereafter  their  lives  were  to  run  in  differ 
ent  grooves.  They  were  not  to  seek  to  see  her 
without  her  permission;  she  did  not  mean  to 
see  them  except  when  and  where  she  chose,  or 
if  she  chose — and  she  did  not  choose. 

One  evening — it  might  have  been  about  a 
year  and  a  half  after  the  marriage  of  his  daugh 
ter — Felix  Millsap  was  on  his  way  home  from 
work,  a  middle-aged  figure,  moving  with  the 
clunking  gait  of  a  tired  laborer  who  wears  cheap, 
heavy  shoes,  his  broad  splayed  hands  dangling 
at  the  ends  of  his  arms  as  though  in  either  of 
them  he  carried  an  invisible  weight.  It  had 
been  a  hot  day,  and  where  he  had  been  toiling 
on  a  roof  shed  which  required  reshingling  the 
[65] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


sun  had  blazed  down  upon  him  until  it  sucked 
his  strength  out  of  him,  leaving  him  limp  and 
draggy.  He  walked  with  his  head  down,  indif 
ferent  in  his  sweated  weariness  to  things  about 
him.  All  the  same,  the  motorman  on  the  Belt 
Line  car  swinging  out  of  Yazoo  Street  into 
Commercial  should  have  sounded  his  gong  for 
the  turning.  Therein  lay  his  contributory  neg 
ligence.  Also,  disinterested  witnesses  subse 
quently  agreed  that  he  took  the  curve  at  high 
speed.  It  was  one  of  these  witnesses  who  saw 
what  was  about  to  happen  and  cried  out  a  vain 
warning  even  as  the  motorman  ground  on  his 
brakes  in  a  belated  effort  to  avoid  the  inevit 
able.  Felix  Millsap  was  dead  when  they  got 
him  out  from  under  the  forward  trucks.  The 
doctors  said  he  must  have  died  instantly;  prob 
ably  he  never  knew  what  hit  him. 

In  all  the  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  poor 
nothing,  usually,  is  shorter  and  simpler  than 
the  funeral  of  one  of  them.  For  the  putting 
away  underground  of  the  odd-jobs  man  per 
haps  thirty  persons  of  his  own  walk  in  life  as 
sembled,  attesting  their  sympathies  by  their 
presence.  But  the  daughter  of  the  deceased 
neither  attended  the  brief  services  at  the  place 
of  his  late  residence  nor  rode  to  the  cemetery 
to  witness  the  burial.  It  was  explained  by  the 
minister  and  by  the  undertaker  to  those  who 
made  inquiry  that  for  good  and  sufficient  rea 
sons  Mrs.  Wy brant  was  not  going  anywhere  at 
present.  But  she  sent  a  great  stiff  set  piece  of 

_____ 


THE      C  A  T  E  R- C  O  R  N  E  R  E  D      SEX 

flowers,  an  elaborate,  inadequate  thing  with  a 
wire  back  to  it  and  a  tin-foil  footing,  which  sat 
alongside  the  black  box  during  the  service  and 
afterwards  was  propped  upright  in  the  rank 
grass  at  the  head  of  the  grave.  It  was  doubly 
conspicuous  by  reason  of  being  the  only  exam 
ple  of  what  greenhouse  men  call  floral  offerings 
that  graced  the  occasion.  And  she  had  written 
her  mother  a  nice  letter;  the  clergyman  made 
this  point  plain  to  such  as  spoke  to  him  regard 
ing  the  absence  of  Mrs.  Wybrant.  He  had  seen 
the  letter;  that  is  to  say,  he  had  seen  the  en 
velope  containing  it.  What  the  clergyman  did 
not  know  was  that  to  the  letter  the  daughter 
had  added  a  paragraph,  underscored,  suggest 
ing  the  name  of  a  leading  firm  of  lawyers  as 
suitable  and  competent  to  defend  their  in 
terests — her  mother's  and  her  own — in  an 
action  for  damages  against  the  street-car 
company. 

However,  as  it  developed,  there  was  no  need 
for  the  pressing  of  suit.  The  street-railway 
company,  tacitly  confessing  fault  on  the  part 
of  one  of  its  employees,  preferred  to  compromise 
out  of  hand  and  so  avoid  the  costs  of  litigation 
and  the  vexations  of  a  trial.  The  sum  paid  in 
settlement  was  by  order  of  the  circuit  court 
lodged  in  the  hands  of  a  special  administrator, 
as  temporary  custodian  of  the  estate  of  the  late 
Felix  Millsap,  by  him  to  be  handed  over  to  the 
heirs  at  law.  So  far  as  the  special  administra- 
tor  was  concerned,  this  would  end  his  duties  in 
[67] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 

the  premises,  seeing  that  other  than  this  sum 
there  was  no  property  to  be  divided. 

The  little  house  at  the  foot  of  Yazoo  Street 
belonged  to  the  widow.  It  had  been  deeded  to 
her  at  the  time  of  its  purchase  years  and  years 
before,  and  she  had  been  a  copartner  in  the 
undertaking  of  paying  off  the  mortgage  upon  it 
by  dribs  and  bitlets  which  represented  hard 
work  and  the  strictest  economy.  Naturally  her 
husband  had  made  no  will.  Probably  it  had 
never  occurred  to  him  that  he  would  have  any 
property  to  bequeath  to  anyone.  But  by  vir 
tue  of  his  having  died  under  a  street  car  rather 
than  in  his  bed  he  was  worth  more  dead  than 
ever,  living,  he  had  dreamed  of  being  worth. 
He  was  worth  eight  thousand  dollars  in  cash. 
So,  as  it  turned  out,  he  had  left  something  other 
than  a  name  for  sober  reliability  and  a  reputa 
tion  for  paying  his  debts.  And  no  doubt,  in 
that  bourn  to  which  his  spirit  had  been  trans 
lated  out  of  a  battered  body,  his  spirit  rejoiced 
that  the  manner  of  his  taking  off  had  been  as 
it  was. 

But  if  the  special  administrator  rested  con 
tent  in  the  thought  that  his  share  in  the  trans 
action  practically  would  end  with  but  few 
added  details,  his  superior,  the  chief  judicial 
officer  of  the  district,  felt  called  upon  to  take 
certain  steps  on  his  own  initiative  solely,  and 
without  consulting  any  person  regarding  the 
advisability  of  his  action.  It  was  character 
istic  of  Judge  Priest  that  he  should  move 
[68] 


THE      CATER-CORNERED      SEX 

promptly  in  the  matter.  To  a  greater  degree 
it  also  was  characteristic  of  him  that,  setting 
out  for  a  visit  to  one  of  no  social  account  what 
soever,  he  should  garb  himself  with  more  care 
than  he  might  have  shown  had  he  been  going 
to  see  one  of  those  mighty  ones  who  sit  in  the 
high  places.  In  a  suit  of  rumply  but  spotless 
white  linen,  and  carrying  in  one  hand  his  best 
tape-edged  palm-leaf  fan,  he  rather  suggested  a 
plump  old  mandarin  as,  on  that  same  evening 
of  the  day  when  the  street-railway  company 
effected  settlement,  he  knocked  at  the  front 
door  of  the  cottage  of  the  Widow  Millsap. 

She  was  in  and  she  was  alone.  She  was  one 
of  those  women  who  always  are  in  and  nearly 
always  are  alone.  Immediately,  then,  they  sat 
in  her  front  room,  which  was  her  best  room. 
Her  sewing  machine  was  there,  and  her  biggest 
oil  lamp  and  her  few  small  sticks  of  company 
furniture,  her  few  scraps  of  parlor  ornamenta 
tion;  a  bad  picture  or  two,  gaudily  framed; 
china  vases  on  a  mantel-shelf;  two  golden-oak 
rockers,  wearing  on  their  slick  and  shiny  front 
lets  the  brand  of  an  installment-house  Cain  who 
murdered  beauty  and  yet  failed  in  his  design 
ings  to  achieve  comfort.  It  was  as  hot  as  a 
Dutch  oven,  that  little  box  of  a  room  inclosed 
within  its  thin-planked  walls.  It  was  not  a 
place  where  one  would  care  to  linger  longer 
than  one  had  to.  Judge  Priest  came  swiftly 
to  the  heart  of  the  business  which  had  sent  him 

thither. 

[69] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


"Ma'am,"  he  was  saying,  "this  is  a  kind  of 
a  pussonal  matter  that's  brought  me  down  here 
this  hot  night,  and  with  your  consent  I'll  git 
right  to  the  point  of  it.  Ordinarily  I'm  a  poor 
hand  at  diggin'  into  the  business  of  other  peo 
ple.  But  seein'  that  I  knowed  your  late  la 
mented  husband  both  ez  a  worthy  citizen  and 
ez  an  honest,  hard-workin'  man,  and  seein'  that 
in  my  official  capacity  it  has  been  incumbent 
upon  me  to  issue  certain  orders  in  connection 
with  your  rights  and  claims  arisin'  out  of  his 
ontimely  death,  I  have  felt  emboldened  to  in 
terest  myself,  privately,  in  your  case — and 
that's  why  I'm  here  now. 

"To-day  at  the  cotehouse,  when  the  settle 
ment  wuz  formally  agreed  to  by  the  legal  rep 
resentatives  of  both  sides,  an  idea  come  to  me. 
And  that  idea  is  this:  Now  there's  eight  thou 
sand  dollars  due  the  heirs,  you  bein'  one  and 
your  daughter,  Mrs.  Dallam  Wybrant,  bein' 
the  other.  Half  of  eight  thousand  dollars 
wouldn't  be  so  very  much  to  help  take  keer  of 
a  person,  no  matter  how  keerful  they  wuz; 
but  eight  thousand  dollars,  put  out  at  interest, 
would  provide  a  livin'  in  a  way  fur  one  who 
lived  simply,  and  more  especially  in  the  case 
of  one  who  owned  their  own  home  and  had  it 
free  from  debt,  ez  I  understand  is  the  situation 
with  reguards  to  you. 

"On  the  other  hand,  your  daughter  is  well 

fixed.    Her  husband  is  a  rich  man,  ez  measured 

by  the  standards  of  our  people.    It's  probable 

[70]  •— 


THE      C  A  T  E  R  -  C  O  R  N  E  R  E  D      SEX 

that  she'll  always  be  well  and  amply  provided 
fur.  Moreover,  she's  young,  and  you,  ma'am, 
will  some  day  come  to  the  time  when  you 
won't  be  able  to  go  on  workin'  with  your  hands 
ez  you  now  do. 

"So  things  bein'  thus  and  so,  it  seems  to  me 
that  ef  the  suggestion  was  made  to  your  daugh 
ter,  Mrs.  Dallam  Wybrant,  that  she  should 
waive  her  claim  to  her  share  of  them  eight 
thousand  dollars  and  sign  over  her  rights  to 
you,  thereby  inshorin'  you  frum  the  fear  of 
actual  want  in  your  declinin'  years;  and  her, 
ez  I  have  jest  been  statin',  not  needin'  the 
money — well,  it  seems  to  me  that  she  would  jest 
naturally  jump  at  the  notion.  So  if  you  would 
go  to  her  yourself  with  the  suggestion,  or  git 
somebody  in  whose  good  sense  and  judgment 
you've  got  due  confidence  to  go  to  her  and  her 
husband  and  lay  the  facts  before  them,  I,  fur 
one,  knowin'  a  little  somethin'  of  human  na 
ture,  feel  morally  sure  of  the  outcome.  Why, 
I  expect  she'd  welcome  the  idea;  maybe  she's 
already  thinkin'  of  the  same  thing  and  won- 
derin'  how,  legally,  it  kin  be  done.  And  that, 
ma'am,  is  what  brings  me  here  to  your  resi 
dence  to-night.  And  I  trust  you  will  appre 
ciate  the  motive  which  has  prompted  me  and 
furgive  me  if  I,  who's  almost  a  stranger  to  you, 
seem  to  have  meddled  in  your  affairs  without 
warrant  or  justification." 

He  reared  back  in  his  chair,  a  plump  hand 
upon  either  knee. 

.  __ 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 

Through  this  the  widow  had  not  spoken,  or 
offered  to  speak.  Now  that  he  had  finished, 
she  answered  him  from  the  half  shadow  in 
which  she  sat  on  the  farther  side  of  the  sewing 
machine  upon  which  the  lamp  burned.  There 
was  no  bitterness,  he  thought,  in  her  words; 
merely  a  sense  of  resignation  to  and  acceptance 
of  a  state  of  things  not  of  her  own  contriving, 
and  not,  conceivably,  to  be  of  her  own  undoing. 

"Judge,"  she  said,  "perhaps  you  know  by 
hearsay  at  least  that  since  my  daughter's  mar 
riage  she  has  lived  apart  from  us.  Neither  my 
husband  nor  I  ever  set  foot  in  the  house  where 
she  lives.  It  was  her  wish" — she  caught  her 
self  here,  and  he,  sensing  that  she  was  equivo 
cating,  nevertheless  inwardly  approved  of  the 
deceit — "I  mean  to  say  that  it  was  not  my 
wish  to  go  among  her  friends,  who  are  not  my 
friends,  or  to  embarrass  her  in  any  way.  I  am 
proud  that  in  marrying  she  has  done  so  well 
for  herself.  In  thinking  of  her  happiness  I  shall 
always  try  to  find  happiness  for  myself. 

"But,  judge,  you  must  know  this  too:  She 
did  not  come  to  the — the  funeral.  Well,  there 
was  a  cause  for  that;  she  had  a  reason.  But 
— but  she  had  not  been  here  for  months  before 
that.  She — oh,  you  might  as  well  hear  it  if 
you  are  to  understand — she  has  never  once 
been  here  since  she  married ! 

"And  so,  Judge  Priest,  I  cannot  go  to  her 
until  I  am  sent  for — not  under  any  circum- 
stances  nor  for  any  purpose.  If  she  has  her 
[72] 


THE      C  A  T  E  R  -  C  O  R  N  E  R  E  D      SEX 

pride,  I  in  my  poor  small  way  have  my  pride, 
too,  my  self-respect.  When  she  needs  me — if 
ever  she  does — I'll  go  to  her  wherever  she  may 
be  if  I  have  to  crawl  there  on  my  hands  and 
knees.  What  has  gone  before  will  all  be  for 
gotten.  But  don't  you  see,  sir? — I  can't  go 
until  she  sends  for  me.  And  so,  Judge  Priest, 
while  I  thank  you  with  all  my  heart  for  your 
thoughtfulness  and  your  kindness,  and  while 
I'd  be  glad,  too,  if  Ellie  saw  fit  or  could  be 
made  to  see  that  it  would  be  a  fine  thing  to 
give  me  this  money  in  the  way  you  have  sug 
gested,  I  say  to  you  again  that  I  cannot  be 
the  one  to  go  to  her.  I  will  not  even  write  to 
her  on  the  subject.  That,  with  me,  is  final." 

"But,  ma'am,"  he  said,  "ef  somebody  else 
went — some  friend  of  yours  and  of  hers — how 
about  it  then?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Her  friends — now — are  not  my  friends.  My 
friends  are  not  hers  any  more;  most  of  them 
never  were  her  friends.  Besides,  the  idea  did 
not  originate  with  me.  Either  the  proposition 
must  come  from  her  direct  or  it  must  be  pre 
sented  to  her  by  some  third  party.  And  I  can 
think  of  no  third  party  of  my  choosing  that 
she  would  care  to  hear.  No,  Judge  Priest,  I 
have  nobody  to  send." 

"All  right  then,"  he  stated,  "since  I  set  this 
here  ball  in  motion  I'll  keep  it  rollin'.    Ma'am, 
I'll  take  it  on  myself  to  speak  to  Mrs.  Dallam 
Wybrant  in  your  behalf." 
[73] 


SUNDRY      ACCOUNTS 

"But,  Judge  Priest,"  she  protested,  "I 
couldn't  ask  you  to  do  that  for  me — I  couldn't! " 

"Ma'am,  you  ain't  asked  me  and  you  don't 
need  to  ask  me.  I'm  askin'  myself — I'm  doin' 
this  on  my  own  hook,  and  ef  you'll  excuse  me 
I'll  start  at  it  right  away.  When  there's  a 
thing  which  needs  to  be  done  ez  bad  ez  this 
thing  needs  to  be  done,  there  oughtn't  to  be 
no  time  lost."  He  stood  up  and  looked  about 
him  for  his  hat.  "Ma'am,  I  confidently  expect 
to  be  back  here  inside  of  half  an  hour,  or  an 
hour  at  most,  with  some  good  news  fur 
you." 

To  one  who  had  traveled  about  more  and 
seen  the  homes  of  wealthy  folk — to  a  profes 
sional  decorator,  say,  or  an  expert  in  furnishing 
values — the  drawing-room  into  which  Judge 
Priest  presently  was  being  ushered  might  have 
seemed  overdone,  overly  cluttered  up  with 
drapery  and  adornment.  But  to  Judge  Priest's 
eye  the  room  was  all  that  a  rich  man's  best 
room  should  be.  The  thick  stucco  walls  cut 
out  the  heat  of  the  night;  an  electric  fan  whirred 
upon  him  as  he  sat  in  a  deep  chair  of  puffed 
red  damask.  A  mulatto  girl  in  neat  uniform — 
this  uniform  itself  an  astonishing  innovation — 
had  answered  his  ring  at  the  door  and  had 
ushered  him  into  this  wonderful  parlor  and  had 
taken  his  name  and  had  gone  up  the  broad 
stairs  with  the  word  that  he  desired  to  see  the 
lady  of  the  house  for  a  few  minutes  upon  im- 

portant  business.     He  had  asked  first  for  Mr. 
__ 


THE      CATER-CORNERED      SEX 

and  Mrs.  Dallam  Wybrant;  but  Mr.  Wybrant, 
it  seemed,  was  out  of  town;  Mrs.  Wybrant, 
then,  would  do.  The  maid,  having  delivered 
the  message,  had  returned  to  say  her  mistress 
would  be  down  presently  and  the  caller  was  to 
wait,  please.  Waiting,  he  had  had  opportunity 
to  contrast  the  present  settings  with  those  he 
had  just  quitted.  Perhaps  the  contrast  be 
tween  them  appeared  all  the  greater  by  reason 
of  the  freshness  of  his  recollection  of  the  phys 
ical  surroundings  at  the  scene  of  his  first  visit 
of  that  evening. 

She  came  down  soon,  wearing  a  loose,  frilly, 
wrapperlike  garment  which  hid  her  figure.  Ap 
proaching  maternity  had  not  softened  her  face, 
had  not  given  to  it  the  glorified  Madonna  look. 
Rather  it  had  drawn  her  features  to  haggard- 
ness  and  put  in  her  eyes  a  look  of  sharpened 
apprehension  as  though  dread  of  the  nearing 
ordeal  of  suffering  and  danger  overrode  the 
hope  which,  along  with  the  new  life,  was  quick 
within  her.  She  greeted  Judge  Priest  with 
a  matter-of-fact  directness.  Her  expression 
plainly  enough  told  him  she  was  at  a  loss  to 
account  for  his  coming. 

"I'm  sorry,  sir,"  she  said  in  her  rather  me 
tallic  fashion  of  speaking,  "that  Dallam  isn't 
here.  But  he  was  called  to  St.  Louis  this 
morning  on  business.  I  hope  you  will  pardon 
my  receiving  you  in  negligee.  I'm  not  seeing 
much  company  at  present.  The  maid,  though, 
said  the  business  was  imperative." 

__ 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


"Yes,  ma'am,  it  is,"  answered  Judge  Priest, 
rather  ceremoniously  for  him,  "and  I  am  grate 
ful  to  you  fur  lettin'  me  see  you  and  I  don't 
aim  to  detain  you  very  long.  I  kin  tell  you  in 
a  few  words  whut  it  is  that  has  brought  me." 

He  was  as  good  as  his  promise — he  did  tell 
her  in  a  few  words.  Outlining  his  suggestion, 
he  used  much  the  same  language  which  he  had 
used  once  already  that  night.  He  did  not  tell 
her,  though,  he  had  come  to  her  direct  from 
her  mother.  He  did  not  tell  her  he  had  been 
to  her  mother  at  all.  It  might  have  been  in 
ferred  that  his  present  hearer  was  the  first  to 
hear  that  which  now  he  set  forth. 

"Well,  ma'am,"  he  concluded,  "that's  the 
condition  ez  I  view  it.  And  if  you  likewise  see 
your  way  clear  to  view  it  ez  I  do  the  whole 
thing  kin  be  accomplished  with  the  scratch  of 
a  pen.  And  you'll  have  the  satisfaction  of 
knowin'  that  through  your  act  your  mother  will 
be  well  provided  fur  fur  the  rest  of  her  life." 
He  added  a  final  argument,  being  moved  thereto 
perhaps  by  the  fact  that  she  had  heard  him 
without  change  of  expression  and  with  no  glance 
which  might  be  interpreted  as  approval  for  his 
plan.  "I  take  it,  ma'am,  that  you  do  not  need 
the  money  involved.  You  never  will  need  it, 
the  chances  are.  You  are  rich  fur  this  town — 
your  husband  is,  anyway." 

She  replied  then,  and  to  the  old  man,  har- 
kening,  it  seemed  that  her  words  fell  sharp  and 
brittle  like  breaking  icicles.  One  thing,  though, 
[76] 


THE      C  A  T  E  R- C  O  R  N  E  R  E  D     SEX 

might  be  said  for  her — she  sought  no  round 
about  course.  She  did  not  quibble  or  seek  to 
enwrap  the  main  issue  in  specious  excuses  or 
apologies  for  her  position.  \ 

"I  decline  to  do  it,"  she  said.  "I  do  not  feel 
that  I  have  the  right  to  do  it.  I  understand 
the  motives  which  may  have  actuated  you  to 
interest  yourself  in  this  affair,  but  I  tell  you 
very  frankly  that  I  have  no  intention  of  sur 
rendering  my  legal  rights  in  the  slightest  de 
gree.  You  say  I  do  not  need  the  money,  but 
in  the  very  same  breath  you  go  on  to  say  the 
chances  are  that  I  shall  never  need  it.  So 
there  you  yourself  practically  admit  there  is  a 
chance  that  some  day  I  might  need  it.  Be 
sides,  I  do  not  rate  my  husband  a  rich  man, 
though  you  may  do  so.  He  is  well-to-do,  noth 
ing  more.  And  his  business  is  uncertain — all 
business  is.  He  might  lose  every  cent  he  has 
to-morrow  in  some  bad  investment  or  some 
poor  speculation. 

"There  is  still  another  reason  I  think  of:  I 
have  nothing — absolutely  nothing — in  my  own 
name.  It  irks  me  to  ask  my  husband,  gener 
ous  though  he  is,  for  every  cent  I  use,  to  have 
to  account  to  him  for  my  personal  expendi 
tures.  Before  I  married  him  I  earned  my  own 
living  and  I  paid  my  own  way  and  learned  to 
love  the  feeling  of  independence,  the  feeling  of 
having  a  little  money  that  was  all  my  own. 
My  share  of  this  inheritance  will  provide  me 
with  a  private  fund,  a  fund  upon  which  I  may 
[77] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


draw  at  will,  or  which  I  may  put  away  for  a 
possible  rainy  day,  just  as  I  choose." 

"But  ma'am,"  he  blurted,  knowing  full  well 
he  was  beaten,  yet  inspired  by  a  desperate, 
forlorn  hope  that  some  added  plea  from  him 
might  break  through  the  shell  of  this  steel-sur 
faced  selfishness — "but,  ma'am,  do  you  stop 
to  realize  that  it's  your  own  mother  who'd 
benefit  by  this  sacrifice  on  your  part?  Do  you 
stop  to  consider  that  if  there's  one  person  in  all 
this  world  who's  entitled—" 

"Pardon  me,  sir,  for  interrupting  you,"  she 
said  crisply,  her  tone  icy  and  sharp,  "but  the 
one  person  who  is  entitled  to  most  considera 
tion  at  my  hands  has  not  actually  come  into 
the  world  yet.  It  is  of  that  person  that  I  must 
think.  I  had  not  meant  to  speak  of  this,  but 
your  insistence  forces  me  to  it.  As  you  may 
guess,  Judge  Priest,  I  am  about  to  become  a 
mother  myself.  If  my  baby  lives — and  my 
baby  is  going  to  live — that  money  will  belong 
to  my  child  should  anything  happen  to  me.  I 
must  think  of  what  lies  ahead  of  me,  not  of 
what  has  gone  before.  My  mother  owns  the 
home  where  she  lives;  she  will  have  her  half 
of  this  sum  of  money;  she  is,  I  believe,  in  good 
health;  she  is  amply  able  to  go  on,  as  she  has 
in  the  past,  adding  to  her  income  with  her 
needle.  So  much  for  my  mother.  As  a  mother 
myself  it  will  be  my  duty,  as  I  see  it,  to  safe 
guard  the  future  of  my  own  child,  and  I  mean 
to  do  it,  regardless  of  everything  else.  That  is 
[78] 


THE      CATER-CORNERED      SEX 

all  I  have  to  say  about  it — that  is,  if  I  have 
made  myself  sufficiently  plain  to  you,  Judge 
Priest." 

"Madam,"  said  he,  and  for  once  at  least  he 
dropped  his  lifelong  affectation  of  ungrammat- 
ical  speech  and  reverted  to  that  more  stately 
and  proper  English  which  he  reserved  for  his 
judgments  from  the  bench,  "you  have  indeed 
made  your  position  so  clear  by  what  you  have 
just  said  that  I  feel  there  is  nothing  whatso 
ever  to  be  added  by  either  one  of  us.  Madam, 
I  have  the  pleasure  to  bid  you  good  night." 

He  clamped  his  floppy  straw  hat  firmly  down 
upon  his  head — a  thing  the  old  judge  in  all  his 
life  never  before  had  done  in  the  presence  of  a 
woman  of  his  race — and  he  turned  the  broad 
of  his  back  upon  her;  and  if  a  man  whose 
natural  gait  was  a  waddle  could  be  said  to 
stride,  then  be  it  stated  that  Judge  Priest  strode 
out  of  that  room  and  out  of  that  house.  Had 
he  looked  back  before  he  reached  the  door  he 
would  have  seen  that  she  sat  in  her  chair,  hud 
dled  in  her  silken  garments,  on  her  face  a  half 
smile  of  tolerant  contempt  for  his  choler  and  in 
her  eye  a  light  playing  like  winter  sunlight  on 
frozen  water;  would  have  seen  that  about  her 
there  was  no  suggestion  whatsoever  that  she 
was  ruffled  or  upset  or  in  the  least  regretful  of 
the  course  she  had  elected  to  follow.  But 
Judge  Priest  did  not  look  back.  He  was  too 
busy  striding. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  beat  or  perhaps  it  was  in- 
[79] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


ability  long  to  maintain  a  gait  so  forced,  but 
the  volunteer  emissary  ceased  to  stride  long 
before  he  had  traversed  the  three-quarters  of  a 
mile — and  yet,  when  one  came  to  think  it  over, 
a  span  as  wide  as  a  continent — which  lay  be 
tween  the  restricted,  not  to  say  exclusive,  head 
of  Chickasaw  Drive  and  the  shabby,  not  to  say 
miscellaneous,  foot  of  Yazoo  Street.  It  was  a 
very  wilted,  very  lag-footed,  very  droopy  old 
gentleman  who,  come  another  half  hour  or  less, 
let  himself  drop  with  an  audible  thump  into  a 
golden-oak  rocker  alongside  the  Widow  Mill- 
sap's  sewing  machine. 

"Ma'am,"  he  had  confessed,  without  pream 
ble,  as  he  entered  her  house,  she  holding  the 
door  open  for  his  passage,  "I  come  back  to  you 
licked.  Your  daughter  absolutely  declines  even 
to  consider  the  proposition  I  put  before  her. 
As  a  plenipotentiary  extraordinary  I  admit  I'm 
a  teetotal  failure.  I  return  to  you  empty- 
handed — and  licked." 

To  this  she  had  said  nothing.  She  had  waited 
until  he  was  seated;  then  as  she  seated  herself 
in  her  former  place,  with  the  lamp  between 
them,  she  asked  quietly,  almost  listlessly,  "My 
daughter  saw  you  then?" 

"She  did,  ma'am,  she  did.  And  she  refused 
point-blank!" 

"I  am  sorry,  Judge  Priest — sorry  that  you 
should  have  been  put  to  so  much  trouble  need 
lessly,"  she  said,  still  holding  her  voice  at  that 
emotionless  level.  "I  am  sorry,  sir,  for  your 
[80] 


THE      CATER-CORNERED      SEX 

sake;  but  it  is  no  more  than  I  expected.  I  let 
you  go  to  her  against  my  better  judgment.  I 
should  have  known  that  your  errand  would  be 
useless.  Eoiowing  Ellie,  I  should  have  known 
better  than  to  send  you." 

He  snorted. 

"Ma'am,  when  a  little  while  ago,  settin'  right 
here,  I  told  you  I  thought  I  knowed  a  little 
something  about  human  nature  I  boasted  too 
soon.  Sech  a  thing  ez  this  thing  which  has 
happened  to-night  is  brand-new  in  my  experi 
ence.  You  will  excuse  my  sayin'  so,  but  I  kin 
not  fathom  the  workin's  of  a  mind  that  would 
— that  would — •"  He  floundered  for  words 
in  his  indignation.  "It  is  not  natural,  this 
here  thing  I  have  just  seen  and  heard.  How 
your  own  flesh  and  blood  could— 

"Judge  Priest,"  she  said  steadily,  "it  is  not 
my  own  flesh  and  blood  that  you  accuse.  That 
is  my  consolation  now.  For  I  know  the  stock 
that  is  in  me.  I  know  the  stock  that  was  in 
my  husband.  My  own  flesh  and  blood  could 
never  treat  me  so." 

He  stared  at  her,  his  forehead  twisted  in  a 
perplexed  frown. 

"I  mean  to  say  just  this,"  she  went  on: 
"Ellie  is  not  my  own  child.  She  has  not  a 
drop  of  my  blood  or  my  husband's  blood  in 
her.  Judge  Priest,  I  am  about  to  tell  you 
something  which  not  another  soul  in  this  town 
excepting  me — now  that  my  husband  is  gone 
— has  ever  known.  We  never  had  any  chil- 
[81] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


dren,  Felix  and  I.  Always  we  wanted  children, 
but  none  came  to  us.  Nearly  twenty-three 
years  ago  it  is  now,  we  had  for  a  neighbor  a 
young  woman  whose  husband  had  deserted  her 
— had  run  away  with  another  woman,  leaving 
her  without  a  cent,  in  failing  health  and  with  a 
six-month-old  girl  baby.  That  was  less  than 
two  years  before  we  came  to  this  town.  We 
lived  then  in  a  little  town  called  Calais,  on  the 
Eastern  Shore  of  Maryland. 

"Three  months  after  the  husband  ran  away 
the  wife  died.  I  guess  it  was  shame  and  a 
broken  heart  more  than  anything  else  that 
killed  her.  She  had  not  a  soul  in  the  world  to 
whom  she  could  turn  for  help  when  she  was 
dying.  We  two  did  what  we  could  for  her. 
We  didn't  have  much — we  never  have  had 
much  all  through  our  lives — but  what  we  had 
we  divided  with  her.  We  were  literally  the 
only  friends  she  had  in  this  world.  At  the  last 
we  took  turns  nursing  her,  my  husband  and  I 
did.  When  she  was  dying  she  put  her  baby  in 
my  arms  and  asked  me  to  take  her  and  to  care 
for  her.  That  was  what  I  had  been  praying  all 
along  that  she  would  do,  and  I  was  glad  and  I 
gave  her  my  promise  and  she  lay  back  on  the 
pillow  and  died. 

"Well,  she  was  buried  and  we  took  the  child 
and  cared  for  her.  We  came  to  love  her  as 
though  she  had  been  our  own ;  we  always  loved 
her  as  though  she  had  been  our  own.  Less 
than  a  year  after  the  mother  died — that  was 
[82] 


THE      C  A  T  E  R  -  C  O  R  N  E  R  E  D      SEX 

when  Ellie  was  about  eighteen  months  old — we 
brought  her  with  us  out  here  to  this  town. 
Her  baptismal  name  was  Eleanor,  which  had 
been  her  mother's  name — Eleanor  Major.  The 
father  who  ran  away  was  named  Richard  Ma 
jor.  We  went  on  calling  her  Eleanor,  but  as 
our  child  she  became  Eleanor  Millsap.  She  has 
never  suspected — she  has  never  for  one  mo 
ment  dreamed  that  she  was  not  our  own.  After 
she  grew  up  and  showed  indifference  to  us,  and 
especially  after  she  had  married  and  began  to 
behave  toward  us  in  a  way  which  has  caused 
her,  I  expect,  to  be  criticized  by  some  people, 
we  still  nursed  that  secret  and  it  gave  us  com 
fort.  For  we  knew,  both  of  us,  that  it  was  the 
alien  blood  in  her  that  made  her  turn  her  back 
upon  us.  We  knew  the  reason,  if  no  one  else 
did,  for  she  was  not  our  own  flesh  and  blood. 
Our  own  could  never  have  served  us  so.  And 
to-night  I  know  better  than  ever  before,  and  it 
lessens  my  sense  of  disappointment  and  dis 
tress. 

"Judge  Priest,  perhaps  you  will  not  under 
stand  me,  but  the  mother  instinct  is  a  curious 
thing.  Through  these  last  few  years  of  my  life 
I  have  felt  as  though  there  were  two  women 
inside  of  me.  One  of  these  women  grieved  be 
cause  her  child  had  denied  her.  The  other  of 
these  women  was  reconciled  because  she  could 
see  reflected  in  the  actions  of  that  child  the 
traits  of  a  breed  of  strangers.  And  yet  both 
these  women  can  still  find  it  in  them  to  for- 
[83] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


give  her  for  all  that  she  has  done  and  all  that 
she  may  ever  do.  That's  motherhood,  1  sup 
pose." 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  he  said  slowly,  "I  reckin 
you're  right — that's  motherhood."  He  tugged 
at  his  tab  of  white  chin  whisker,  and  his  puck 
ered  old  eyes  behind  their  glasses  were  shad 
owed  with  a  deep  compassion.  Then  with  a 
jerk  he  sat  erect. 

"I  take  it  that  you  adopted  the  child  le 
gally?"  he  said,  seeking  to  make  his  tone  casual. 

"We  took  her  just  as  I  told  you,"  she  an 
swered.  "We  always  treated  her  as  though 
she  had  been  ours.  She  never  knew  any  differ 
ence." 

"Yes,  ma'am,  quite  so.  You've  made  that 
clear  enough.  But  by  law,  before  you  left 
Maryland,  you  gave  her  your  name,  I  suppose? 
You  went  through  the  legal  form  of  law  of 
adoptin'  her,  didn't  you?" 

"No,  sir,  we  didn't  do  that.  It  didn't  seem 
necessary — it  never  occurred  to  us  to  do  it. 
Her  mother  was  dead  and  her  father  was  gone 
nobody  knew  where.  He  had  abandoned  her, 
had  shown  he  didn't  care  what  might  become 
of  her.  And  her  mother  on  her  deathbed  had 
given  her  to  me.  Wasn't  that  sufficient?  " 

Apparently  he  had  not  heard  her  question. 
Instead  of  answering  it  he  put  one  of  his  own : 

"Do  you  reckin  now,  ma'am,  by  any  chance 
that  there  are  any  people  still  livin'  back  there 
in  that  town  of  Calais — old  neighbors  of  yours, 

[8*] 


THE      C  A  T  E  R  -  C  O  R  N  E  R  E  D      SEX 

or  kinfolks  maybe — who'd  remember  the  cir 
cumstances  in  reguard  to  your  havin'  took  this 
baby  in  the  manner  which  you  have  described?  " 

"Yes,  sir;  two  at  least  that  I  know  of  are 
still  living.  One  is  my  half  sister.  I  haven't 
seen  her  in  twenty-odd  years,  but  I  hear  from 
her  regularly.  And  another  is  a  man  who 
boarded  with  us  at  the  time.  He  was  young 
then  and  very  poor,  but  he  has  become  well- 
to-do  since.  He  lives  in  Baltimore  now;  is 
prominent  there  in  politics.  Occasionally  I  see 
his  name  in  the  paper.  He  has  been  to  Con 
gress  and  he  ran  for  senator  once.  And  there 
may  be  still  others  if  I  could  think  of  them." 

"Never  mind  the  others;  the  two  you've 
named  will  be  sufficient.  Whut  did  you  say 
their  names  were,  ma'am?" 

She  told  him.  He  repeated  them  after  her 
as  though  striving  to  fix  them  in  his  memory. 

"Ah-hah,"  he  said.  "Ma'am,  have  you  got 
some  writin'  material  handy?  Any  blank  paper 
will  do — and  a  pen  and  ink?" 

From  a  little  stand  in  a  corner  she  brought 
him  what  he  required,  and  wonderingly  but  in 
silence  watched  him  as  he  put  down  perhaps  a 
dozen  close-written  lines.  She  bided  until  he 
had  concluded  his  task  and  read  through  the 
script,  making  a  change  here  and  there.  Then 
all  at  once  some  confused  sense  of  realization  of 
his  new  purpose  came  to  her.  She  stood  up  and 
took  a  step  forward  and  laid  one  apprehensive 
hand  upon  the  paper  as  though  to  stay  him. 
[85] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


"Judge  Priest,"  she  said,  "what  have  you 
written  down  here?  And  what  do  you  mean 
to  do  with  what  you  have  written?" 

"Whut  I  have  written  here  is  a  short  state 
ment — a  memorandum,  really,  of  whut  you 
have  been  tellin'  me,  ma'am,"  he  explained. 
"I'll  have  it  written  out  more  fully  in  the  form 
of  an  affidavit,  and  then  to-morrow  I  want  you 
to  sign  it  either  here  or  at  my  office  in  the 
presence  of  witnesses." 

"But  is  it  necessary?"  she  demurred.  "I'm 
ignorant  of  the  law,  and  you  spoke  just  now  of 
my  failure  to  adopt  Ellie  by  law.  But  if  at 
this  late  date  I  must  do  it,  can't  it  be  done 
privately,  in  secret,  so  that  neither  Ellie  nor 
anyone  else  will  ever  know?" 

"Ellie  will  have  to  know,  I  reckin,"  he  stated 
grimly,  "and  other  folks  will  know  too.  But 
this  here  paper  has  nothin'  to  do  with  any  sech 
proceedin'  ez  you  imagine.  It's  too  late  now 
fur  you  legally  to  adopt  Mrs.  Dallam  Wybrant, 
even  though  any  person  should  suggest  sech  a 
thing,  and  I,  fur  my  part,  don't  see  how  any 
right-thinkin'  person  could  or  would  do  so. 
She's  a  free  agent,  of  full  age,  and  she's  a  mar 
ried  woman.  No,  ma'am,  she  has  no  legal 
claim  on  you  and  to  my  way  of  thinkin'  she 
has  no  moral  claim  on  you  neither.  She's  not 
your  child,  a  fact  which  I'm  shore  kin  mighty 
easy  be  proved  ef  anyone  should  feel  inclined 
to  doubt  your  word.  She  ain't  your  legal  heir. 
She  ain't  got  a  leg — excuse  me,  ma'am — she 
[86] 


THE      CATER-CORNERED      SEX 

ain't  got  a  prop  to  stand  on.  I  thought  Ellie 
had  us  licked.  Instid  it  would  seem  that  we've 
got  Ellie  licked." 

He  broke  off,  checked  in  his  exultant  flight 
by  the  look  upon  her  face.  Her  fingers  turned 
inward,  the  blunted  nails  scratching  at  the 
sheet  of  paper  as  though  she  would  tear  it 
from  him. 

"No,  no,  no!"  she  cried.  "I  won't  do  that! 
I  can't  do  that!  You  mustn't  ask  me  to  do 
that,  judge!" 

"But,  ma'am,  don't  you  git  my  meanin'  yit? 
Don't  you  realize  that  not  a  penny  of  this 
eight  thousand  dollars  belongs  to  Mrs.  Dallam 
Wy brant?  That  she  has  no  claim  upon  any 
part  of  it?  That  it's  all  yours  and  that  you're 
goin'  to  have  it  all  for  yourself — every  last 
red  cent  of  it — jest  ez  soon  ez  the  proof 
kin  be  filed  and  the  order  made  by  me  in 
court?" 

"I'm  not  thinking  of  that,"  she  declared. 
"It's  Ellie  I  think  of.  Her  happiness  means 
more  to  me  than  a  million  dollars  would.  What 
I  have  told  you  was  in  confidence,  and,  judge, 
you  must  treat  it  so.  I  beg  you,  I  demand  it 
of  you.  You  must  promise  me  not  to  go  any 
further  in  this.  You  must  promise  me  not  to 
tell  a  living  soul  what  I  have  told  you  to-night. 
I  won't  sign  any  affidavit.  I  won't  sign  any 
thing.  I  won't  do  anything  to  humiliate  her. 
Don't  you  see,  Judge  Priest — oh,  don't  you  see? 
She  feels  shame  already  because  she  thinks  she 
[87]  


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


was  humbly  born.  She  would  be  more  deeply 
ashamed  than  ever  if  she  knew  how  humbly 
she  really  was  born — knew  that  her  father  was 
a  scoundrel  and  her  mother  died  a  pauper  and 
was  buried  in  a  potter's  field;  that  the  name 
she  has  borne  is  not  her  own  name;  that  she 
has  eaten  the  bread  of  charity  through  the 
most  of  her  life.  No,  Judge  Priest,  I  tell  you 
no,  a  thousand  times  no.  She  doesn't  know. 
Through  me  she  shall  never  know.  I  would  die 
to  spare  her  suffering — die  to  spare  her  humili 
ation  or  disgrace.  Before  God's  eyes  I  am  her 
mother,  and  it  is  her  mother  who  tells  you  no, 
not  that,  not  that!" 

He  got  upon  his  feet  too.  He  crumpled  the 
paper  into  a  ball  and  thrust  it  out  of  sight  as 
though  it  had  been  a  thing  abominable  and  un 
clean.  He  took  no  note  that  in  wadding  the 
sheet  he  had  overturned  the  inkwell  and  a 
stream  from  it  was  trickling  down  his  trouser 
legs,  marking  them  with  long  black  zebra 
streaks.  He  looked  at  her,  she  standing  there,  a 
stooped  and  meager  shape  in  her  scant,  ill-fitting 
gown  of  sleazy  black,  yet  seeming  to  him  an 
embodiment  of  all  the  beatitudes  and  all  the 
beauties  of  this  mortal  world. 

"Ma'am,"  he  said,  "your  wishes  shall  be  re 
spected.  It  shall  be  ez  you  say.  My  lawyer's 
sense  tells  me  that  you  are  wrong — foolishly, 
blindly  wrong.  But  my  memory  of  my  own 
mother  tells  me  that  you  are  right,  and  that 
no  mother's  son  has  got  the  right  to  question 
[88] 


THE      C  A  T  E  R  -  C  O  R  N  E  R  E  D     SEX 

you  or  try  to  persuade  you  to  do  anything  dif 
ferent.  Ma'am,  I'd  count  it  an  honor  to  be 
able  to  call  myself  your  friend." 

Already,  within  the  hour,  Judge  Priest  had 
broken  two  constant  rules  of  his  daily  conduct. 
Now,  involuntarily,  without  forethought  on  his 
part,  he  was  about  to  break  another.  This 
would  seem  to  have  been  a  night  for  the  smash 
ing  of  habits  by  our  circuit  judge.  For  she  put 
out  to  him  her  hand — a  most  unlovely  hand, 
all  wrinkled  at  the  back  where  dimples  might 
once  have  been  and  corded  with  big  blue  veins 
and  stained  and  shriveled  and  needle  scarred. 
And  he  took  her  hand  in  his  fat,  pudgy,  awk 
ward  one,  and  then  he  did  this  thing  which 
never  before  in  all  his  days  he  had  done,  this 
thing  which  never  before  he  had  dreamed  of 
doing.  Really,  there  is  no  accounting  for  it  at 
all  unless  we  figure  that  somewhere  far  back  in 
Judge  Priest's  ancestry  there  were  Celtic  gal 
lants,  versed  in  the  small  sweet  tricks  of  gal 
lantry.  He  bent  his  head  and  he  kissed  her 
hand  with  a  grace  for  which  a  Tom  Moore  or  a 
Raleigh  might  have  envied  him. 

Let  us  now  for  a  briefened  space  cast  up  in 
a  preliminary  way  the  tally  on  behalf  of  the 
whimsical  devils  of  circumstance  and  the  part 
they  are  to  play  in  the  culminating  and  con 
cluding  periods  of  this  narrative.  On  the  noon 
train  of  the  day  following  the  night  when  that 
occurred  which  has  been  set  forth  in  the  fore- 
[89] 


SUNDRY      ACCOUNTS 


going  pages,  Judge  Priest,  in  the  company  of 
Doctor  Lake  and  Sergeant  Jimmy  Bagby,  late 
of  King's  Hell  Hounds,  C.S.A.,  departs  for 
Reelfoot  Lake  upon  his  annual  fishing  trip.  In 
the  afternoon  Jeff  Poindexter,  the  judge's  body 
servant,  going  through  his  master's  wardrobe 
seeking  articles  suitable  for  his  own  adornment 
in  the  master's  absence,  is  pained  to  discern 
stripings  of  spilled  ink  down  the  legs  of  a  pair 
of  otherwise  unmarred  white  trousers,  and,  hav 
ing  no  intention  that  garments  which  will  one 
day  come  into  his  permanent  possession  shall 
be  thus  disfigured  and  sullied,  promptly  bun 
dles  them  up  and  bears  them  to  the  cleansing, 
pressing  and  repairing  establishment  of  one 
Hyman  Pedaloski.  The  coat  which  matches 
the  trousers  goes  along  too.  Upon  the  under 
side  of  one  of  its  sleeves  there  is  a  big  ink  blob. 
Include  in  the  equation  this  emigre,  Hyman 
Pedaloski,  newly  landed  from  Courland  and 
knowing  as  yet  but  little  of  English,  whether 
written  or  spoken,  yet  destined  to  advance  by 
progressive  stages  until  a  day  comes  when  we 
proudly  shall  hail  him  as  our  most  fashion 
able  merchant  prince — Hy  Clay  Pedaloski,  the 
Square  Deal  Clothier,  Also  Hats,  Caps  & 
Leather  Goods.  Include  as  a  factor  Hyman 
by  all  means,  for  lacking  him  our  chain  of 
chancy  coincidence  would  lack  a  most  vital 
link. 

At  Reelfoot  Lake  many  black  bass,  bronze- 
backed  and  big-mouthed,  meet  the  happy  fate 


THE      CATER-CORNERED      SEX 

which  all  true  anglers  wish  for  them;  and  the 
white  perch  do  bite  with  a  whole-souled  enthu 
siasm  only  equaled  by  the  whole-souled  enthu 
siasm  with  which  also  the  mosquitoes  bite. 
This  brings  us  to  the  end  of  the  week  and  to 
the  fifth  day  of  the  expedition,  with  Judge 
Priest  at  rest  at  the  close  of  a  satisfactory 
day's  sports,  exhaling  scents  of  the  oil  of 
penny-royal.  Sitting -there  under  a  tent  fly,  all 
sun  blistered  and  skeeter  stung,  all  tired  out 
but  most  content,  he  picks  up  a  two-day-old 
copy  of  the  Daily  Evening  News  which  the 
darky  boatman  has  just  brought  over  to  camp 
from  the  post  office  at  Walnut  Log,  and  he 
opens  it  at  the  department  headed  Local  La 
conics,  and  halfway  down  the  first  column  his 
eye  falls  upon  a  paragraph  at  sight  of  which  he 
gives  so  deep  a  snort  that  Doctor  Lake  swings 
about  from  where  he  is  shaving  before  a  hand 
mirror  hung  on  a  tree  limb  and  wants  to  know 
whether  the  judge  has  happened  upon  disagree 
able  tidings.  What  the  judge  has  read  is  a 
small  item  in  this  wise,  namely: 

Born  last  evening  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dallam  Wybrant, 
at  their  palatial  mansion  on  Chickasaw  Drive,  in  the  new 
Beechmont  Park  Realty  Development  tract,  an  infant 
daughter,  their  first-born.  Mother  and  child  both  doing 
well;  the  proud  papa  reported  this  morning  as  being 
practically  out  of  danger  and  is  expected  to  be  entirely 
recovered  shortly,  as  Dock  Boyd,  the  attending  medico, 
says  he  has  brought  three  hundred  babies  into  the  world 
and  never  lost  a  father  yet.  Ye  editor  extends  heartiest 
congrats.  Dal,  it  looks  like  the  cigars  were  on  you ! 

[91] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 

The  next  chapter  in  the  sequence  of  chapters 
leading  to  our  climax  is  short  but  essential. 
Returning  home  Sunday  evening,  Judge  Priest 
is  informed  that  twice  that  day  a  strange 
young  white  lady  has  stopped  at  the  house 
urgently  requesting  that  immediately  upon  his 
arrival  he  be  so  good  as  to  call  on  Mrs.  Dallam 
Wybrant  on  a  matter  of  pressing  moment. 
Bidden  to  describe  the  messenger,  Jeff  Pom- 
dexter  can  only  say  that  she  'uz  a  power 
ful  masterful-lookin'  Yankee-talkin'  lady,  all 
dressed  up  lak  she  mout  belong  to  some  kind 
of  a  new  secret  s'ciety  lodge,  which  is  Jeff's 
way  of  summing  up  his  impressions  of  the 
first  professional  trained  nurse  ever  imported, 
capped,  caped  and  white  shod,  to  our  town. 

It  was  this  same  professional,  a  cool  and 
starchy  vision,  who  led  the  way  up  the  wide 
stairs  of  the  Chickasaw  Drive  house,  the  old 
judge,  much  mystified,  following  close  behind 
her.  She  ushered  him  into  a  bedroom,  bigger 
and  more  gorgeous  than  any  bedroom  he  had 
ever  seen,  and  leaving  him  standing,  hat  in 
hand,  at  the  bedside  of  her  chief  charge,  she 
went  out  and  closed  the  door  behind  her. 

From  the  pillows  there  looked  up  at  him  a 
face  that  was  paler  than  when  he  had  last  seen 
it,  a  face  still  drawn  from  pangs  of  agony  re 
cently  endured,  but  a  face  transfigured  and  ra 
diant.  The  Madonna  look  was  in  it  now.  Out 
side,  the  dusk  of  an  August  evening  was  thick 
ening;  and  inside,  the  curtains  were  half  drawn 
[92] 


THE      CATER-CORNERED      SEX 

and  the  electrics  not  yet  turned  on,  but  even 
so,  in  that  half  light,  the  judge  could  mark  the 
change  here  revealed  to  him.  He  could  sense, 
too,  that  the  change  was  more  spiritual  than 
physical,  and  he  could  feel  his  animosity  for 
this  woman  softening  into  something  distantly 
akin  to  sympathy.  At  her  left  side,  harbored 
in  the  crook  of  her  elbow,  lay  a  cuddling  bun 
dle;  a  tiny  head,  all  red  and  bare,  as  though 
offering  to  Judge  Priest's  own  bald,  pinkish 
pate  the  sincere  flattery  of  imitation,  was  ex 
posed;  and  the  tip  of  a  very  small  ear,  curled 
and  crinkled  like  a  sea  shell.  You  take  the 
combination  of  a  young  mother  cradling  her 
first-born  within  the  hollow  of  her  arm  and  you 
have  the  combination  which  has  tautened  the 
heartstrings  of  man  since  the  first  man  child 
came  from  the  womb.  The  old  man  made  a 
silent  obeisance  of  reverence;  then  waited  for 
her  to  speak  and  expose  the  purpose  behind 
this  totally  unexpected  summons. 

"Judge  Priest,"  she  said,  "I  have  been  lying 
here  all  day  hoping  you  would  come  before 
night.  I  have  been  wishing  for  you  to  come 
ever  since  I  came  out  from  under  the  ether. 
Thank  you  for  coming." 

"Ma'am,  I  started  fur  here  ez  soon  ez  I  got 
your  word,"  he  said.  "In  whut  way  kin  I  be 
of  service  to  you?  I'm  at  your  command." 

She  slid  her  free  hand  beneath  the  pillow  on 
which  her  head  rested  and  brought  forth  a 
crinkled  sheet  of  paper  and  held  it  out  to  him. 
[93] 


SUNDRY      ACCOUNTS 


"Didn't  you  write  this?"  she  asked. 

He  took  it  and  looked  at  it,  and  a  great  as 
tonishment  and  a  great  chagrin  screwed  his 
eyes  and  slackened  his  lower  jaw. 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  he  admitted,  "I  wrote  it. 
But  it  wuzn't  meant  fur  you  to  see.  It  wuzn't 
meant  fur  anybody  a-tall  to  see — ever.  And 
I'm  wonderin',  ma'am,  and  waitin'  fur  you  to 
tell  me  how  come  it  to  reach  you." 

"I'll  tell  you,"  she  answered.  "But  first, 
before  we  get  to  that,  would  you  mind  telling 
me  how  you  came  to  write  it,  and  when,  and 
all?  I  think  I  can  guess.  I  think  I  have  al 
ready  pieced  the  thing  together  for  myself. 
Women  can't  reason  much,  you  know;  but 
they  have  intuition."  She  smiled  a  little  at 
this  conceit.  "And  I  want  to  know  if  my  de 
ductions  and  my  conclusions  are  correct." 

"Well,  ma'am,"  he  said,  "ez  I  wuz  sayin', 
no  human  eye  wuz  to  have  read  this  here.  But 
since  you  have  read  it,  I  feel  it's  my  bounden 
duty,  in  common  justice  to  another,  to  tell 
you  the  straight  of  it,  even  though  in  doin'  so 
I'm  breakin'  a  solemn  pledge." 

So  he  told  her — the  how  and  the  why  and 
the  where  and  the  when  of  it;  details  of  which 
the  reader  is  aware. 

"I  thought  I  wasn't  very  far  wrong,  and  I 
wasn't,"  she  said  when  he  had  finished  his  con 
fession.  She  was  quiet  for  a  minute,  her  eyes 
fixed  on  the  farther  wall.  Then:  V Judge 
Priest,  unwittingly,  it  seems,  you  have  been 


THE      C  A  T  E  R- C  O  R  N  E  R  E  D      SEX 

the  god  of  the  machine.  I  wonder  if  you'd  be 
willing  to  continue  to  serve?" 

"Ef  it  lies  within  my  powers  to  do  so — yes- 
sum,  and  gladly." 

"It  doe£  lie  within  your  power.  I  want  you 
to  have  the  necessary  papers  drawn  up  which 
will  signalize  my  giving  over  to  my  mother  my 
share  of  that  money  which  the  railway  paid 
two  weeks  ago,  and  then  if  you  will  send  them 
to  me  I  will  sign  them.  I  want  this  done  at 
once,  please — as  soon  as  possible." 

"Ma'am,"  he  said,  "it  shall  be  as  you  de 
sire;  but  ef  it's  all  the  same  to  you  I'd  like  to 
write  out  that  there  paper  with  my  own  hand. 
I  kin  think  of  no  act  of  mine,  official  or  pri 
vate,  in  my  whole  lifetime  which  would  give 
me  more  honest  pleasure.  I'll  do  so  before  I 
leave  this  house."  He  did  not  tell  her  that  by 
the  letter  of  the  law  she  would  be  giving  away 
what  by  law  was  not  hers  to  give.  He  would 
do  nothing  to  spoil  for  her  the  sweet  savor  of 
her  surrender.  Instead  he  put  a  question :  "It 
would  appear  that  you  have  changed  your 
mind  about  this  here  matter  since  I  seen  you 
last?" 

"It  was  changed  for  me,"  she  said.  "This 
paper  helped  to  change  it  for  me;  and  you, 
too,  helped  without  your  knowledge;  and  one 
other,  and  most  of  all  my  baby  here,  helped  to 
change  it  for  me.  Judge  Priest,  since  my  baby 
came  to  me  my  whole  view  of  life  seems  some 
how  to  have  been  altered.  I've  been  lying  here 
[95]  


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


to-day  with  her  beside  me,  thinking  things  out. 
Suppose  I  should  be  taken  from  her,  and  sup 
pose  her  father  should  be  taken,  too,  and  she 
should  be  left,  as  I  was,  to  the  mercy  of  the 
world  and  the  charity  of  strangers.  Suppose 
she  should  grow  up,  as  I  did — although  until  I 
read  that  paper  I  didn't  know  it — beholden  to 
the  goodness  and  the  devotion  and  the  love  of 
one  who  was  not  her  real  mother.  Wouldn't 
she  owe  to  that  other  woman  more  than  she 
could  have  owed  to  me,  her  own  mother,  had 
I  been  spared  to  rear  her?  I  think  so — no,  I 
know  it  is  so.  Every  instinct  of  motherhood  in 
me  tells  me  it  is  so." 

"Lady,"  he  answered,  "to  a  mere  man 
woman  always  will  be  an  everlastin'  puzzle  and 
a  riddle;  but  even  a  man  kin  appreciate,  in  a 
poor,  faint  way,  the  depths  of  mother  love.  It's 
ez  though  he  looked  through  a  break  in  the 
clouds  and  ketched  a  vision  of  the  glories  of 
heaven.  But  you  ain't  told  me  yit  how  you 
come  to  be  in  possession  of  this  here  sheet  of 
note  paper." 

"Oh,  that's  right!  I  had  forgotten,"  she  an 
swered.  "Try  to  think  now,  judge — when  my 
mother  refused  to  let  you  go  farther  with  your 
plan  that  night  at  her  house,  what  did  you  do 
with  the  paper?" 

"I  shoved  it  out  of  sight  quick  ez  ever  I 
could.  I  recall  that  much  anyway." 

"Did  you  by  any  chance  put  it  in  your 

pocket?"  

T96] 


THE      CATER-CORNERED     SEX 

"Well,  by  Nathan  Bedford  Forrest!"  he  ex 
claimed.  "I  believe  that's  purzaekly  the  very 
identical  thing  I  did  do.  And  bein'  a  careless 
old  fool,  I  left  it  there  instid  of  tearin'  it  up  or 
burnin'  it,  and  then  I  went  on  home  and  plum' 
furgot  it  wuz  still  there — not  that  I  now  regret 
havin'  done  so,  seein'  whut  to-night's  outcome 
is." 

"And  did  your  servant,  after  you  were  gone, 
send  the  suit  you  had  worn  that  night  down 
town  to  be  cleaned  or  repaired?  Or  do  you 
know  about  that?" 

"I  suspicion  that  he  done  that  very  thing," 
he  said,  a  light  beginning  to  break  in  upon 
him.  "Jeff  is  purty  particular  about  keepin' 
my  clothes  in  fust-rate  order.  He  aims  fur 
them  to  be  in  good  condition  when  he  decides 
it's  time  to  confiscate  'em  away  frum  me  and 
start  in  wearin'  'em  himself.  Yessum,  my  Jeff's 
mighty  funny  that  way.  And  now,  come  to 
think  of  it,  I  do  seem  to  reckerlect  that  I  spilt 
a  lot  of  ink  on  'em  that  same  night." 

"Well,  then,  the  mystery  is  no  mystery  at 
all,"  she  said.  "On  that  very  same  day — the 
day  your  darky  sent  your  clothes  to  the  clean 
er's — I  had  two  of  Dallam's  suits  sent  down  to 
be  pressed.  That  little  man  at  the  trilor  shop 
— Pedaloski — found  this  paper  crumpled  up  in 
your  pocket  and  took  it  out  and  l^ii  later  for 
got  where  he  had  found  it.  So,  a.*:  I  under 
stand,  he  tried  to  read  it,  seeking  for  a  clue  to 
its  ownership.  He  can't  read  much  English, 
[97] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


you  know,  so  probably  he  has  had  no  idea  then 
or  thereafter  of  the  meaning  of  it;  but  he  did 
know  enough  English  to  make  out  the  name  of 
Wybrant.  Look  at  it  and  you'll  see  my  name 
occurs  twice  in  it,  but  your  name  does  not  oc 
cur  at  all.  So  don't  you  see  what  happened — 
what  he  did?  Thinking  the  paper  must  have 
come  from  one  of  my  husband's  pockets,  he 
smoothed  it  out  as  well  as  he  could  and  folded 
it  up  and  pinned  it  to  the  sleeve  of  Dallam's 
blue  serge  and  sent  it  here.  My  maid  found  it 
when  she  was  undoing  the  bundle  before  hang 
ing  up  the  clothes  in  Dallam's  closet,  and  she 
brought  it  to  me,  thinking,  I  suppose,  it  was  a 
bill  from  the  cleaner's  shop,  and  I  read  it. 
Simple  enough  explanation,  isn't  it,  when  you 
know  the  facts?" 

"Simple,"  he  agreed,  "and  yit  at  the  same 
time  sort  of  wonderful  too.  And  whut  did  you 
do  when  you  read  it?" 

"I  was  stunned  at  first.  I  tried  at  first  not 
to  believe  it.  But  I  couldn't  deceive  myself. 
Something  inside  of  me  told  me  that  it  was 
true — every  word  of  it.  I  suppose  it  was  the 
woman  in  me  that  told  me.  And  somehow  I 
knew  that  you  had  written  it,  although  really 
that  part  was  not  so  very  hard  a  thing  to  fig 
ure  out,  considering  everything.  And  some 
how — I  can't  tell  you  why  though — I  was  mor 
ally  sure  that  after  you  had  written  it  some 
other  person  had  forbidden  your  making  use  of 
it  in  any  way,  and  instinctively — anyhow,  I 
[98] 


THE      C  A  T  E  R  -  C  O  R  N  E  R  E  D     SEX 

suppose  you  might  say  it  was  by  instinct — I 
knew  that  it  had  reached  me,  of  all  persons,  by 
accident  and  not  by  design. 

"I  tried  to  reach  you — you  were  gone  away. 
But  I  did  reach  that  funny  little  man  Peda- 
loski  by  telephone,  and  found  out  from  him 
why  he  had  pinned  the  paper  on  Dallam's  coat. 
I  did  not  tell  my  husband  about  it.  He  doesn't 
know  yet.  I  don't  think  I  shall  ever  tell  him. 
For  two  days,  judge,  I  wrestled  with  the  prob 
lem  of  whether  I  should  send  for  my  mother 
and  tell  her  that  now  I  knew  the  thing  which 
all  her  life  she  had  guarded  from  me.  Finally 
I  decided  to  wait  and  see  you  first,  and  try  to 
find  out  from  you  the  exact  circumstances 
under  which  the  paper  was  written,  and  the 
reason  why,  after  writing  it,  you  crumpled  it 
up  and  hid  it  away. 

"And  then — and  then  my  baby  came,  and 
since  she  came  my  scheme  of  life  seems  all  made 
over.  And  oh,  Judge  Priest" — she  reached 
forth  a  white,  weak  hand  and  caught  at  his — 
"I  have  you  and  my  baby  and — yes,  that  lit 
tle  man  to  thank  that  my  eyes  have  been 
opened  and  that  my  heart  has  melted  in  me 
and  that  my  soul  has  been  purged  from  a  ter 
rible  selfish  deed  of  cruelty  and  ingratitude. 
And  one  thing  more  I  want  you  to  know:  I'm 
not  really  sorry  that  I  was  born  as  I  was.  I'm 
glad,  because — well,  I'm  just  glad,  that's  all. 
And  I  suppose  that,  too,  is  the  woman  in 


me." 


[99] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


One  given  to  sonorous  and  orotund  phrases 
would  doubtless  have  coined  a  most  splendid 
speech  here.  But  all  the  old  judge,  gently  pat 
ting  her  hand,  said  was: 

"Well,  now,  ma'am,  that's  powerful  fine — 
the  way  it's  all  turned  out.  And  I'm  glad  I 
had  a  blunderin'  hand  in  it  to  help  bring  it 
about.  I  shorely  am,  ma'am.  I'd  like  to  keep 
on  havin'  a  hand  in  it.  I  wonder  now  ef  you 
wouldn't  like  fur  me  to  be  the  one  to  go  right 
now  and  fetch  your  mother  here  to  you?" 

She  shook  her  head,  smiling. 

"Thank  you,  judge,  that's  not  necessary. 
She's  here  now.  She  was  here  when  the  baby 
came.  I  sent  for  her.  She's  in  her  room  right 
down  the  hall;  it'll  be  her  room  always  from 
now  on.  I  expect  she's  sewing  on  things  for 
the  baby;  we  can't  make  her  stop  it.  She's 
terribly  jealous  of  Miss  McAlpin — that's  the 
trained  nurse  Dallam  brought  back  with  him 
from  St.  Louis — but  Miss  McAlpin  will  be  going 
soon,  and  then  she'll  be  in  sole  charge.  She 
doesn't  know,  Judge  Priest,  that  what  she  told 
to  you  I  now  know.  She  never  shall  know  if  I 
can  prevent  it,  and  I  know  you'll  help  me 
guard  our  secret  from  her." 

"I  reckin  you  may  safely  count  on  me  there, 
ma'am,"  he  promised.  "I've  frequently  been 
told  by  disinterested  parties  that  I  snore  purty 
loud  sometimes,  but  I  don't  believe  anybody 
yit  caught  me  talkin'  in  my  sleep.  And  now  I 
expect  you're  sort  of  tired  out.  So  ef  you'll 
[ioo] 


THE      C  A  T  E  R  -  C  O  R  N  E  R  E  D      SEX 

excuse  me  I'll  jest  slip  downstairs,  and  before 
I  go  do  that  there  little  piece  of  writin'  we 
spoke  about  a  while  ago." 

"Wouldn't  you  like  to  see  my  baby  before 
you  go?"  she  asked.  Her  left  hand  felt  for  the 
white  folds  which  half  swaddled  the  tiny  sleeper. 
"Judge  Priest,  let  me  introduce  you  to  little 
Miss  Martha  Millsap  Wybrant,  named  for  her 
grandmammy." 

"Pleased  to  meet  you,  young  lacjy^"  s,a,id  he, 
bowing  low  and  elaborately.  "At.,y«ur.  e^rjy 
age,  honey,  it's  easier  fur  a  man,  to  understajid> 
you  than  ever  it  will  be  agin  after  you  start, 
growin'  up.  Pleased  indeed  to  meet  you." 

If  memory  serves  him  aright,  this  chronicler 
of  sundry  small  happenings  in  the  life  and 
times  of  the  Honorable  William  Pitman  Priest 
has  more  than  once  heretofore  commented  upon 
the  fact  that  among  our  circuit  judge's  idio 
syncrasies  was  his  trick,  when  deeply  moved,  of 
talking  to  himself.  This  night  as  he  went 
slowly  homeward  through  the  soft  and  velvety 
cool  of  the  summer  darkness  he  freely  indulged 
himself  in  this  habit.  Oddly  enough,  he  punc 
tuated  his  periods,  as  it  were,  with  lamp-posts. 
When  he  reached  a  street  light  he  would  speak 
musingly  to  himself,  then  fall  silent  until  he 
had  trudged  along  to  the  next  light.  Some 
thing  after  this  fashion: 

Corner  of  Chickasaw  Drive  and  Exall  Boule 
vard: 

[101] 


SUNDRY      ACCOUNTS 


"Well,  sir,  the  older  I  git  the  more  con 
vinced  I  am  that  jest  about  the  time  a  man 
decides  he  knows  a  little  something  about  hu 
man  nature  it's  a  shore  sign  he  don't  know 
nothin'  a-tall  about  it,  'specially  human  nature 
ez  it  applies  to  the  female  of  the  species.  Now, 
f'rinstance,  you  take  this  here  present  instance: 
A  woman  turns  aginst  the  woman  she  thinks  is 
her  own  mother.  Then  she  finds  out  the  other 
woman  ,ain\t  her  own  mother  a-tall,  and  she 
swings -'right  back  round  agin  and — well,  it's 
gotrme  stumped.  Now  ef  in  her  place  it  had 
V  been  'a  man.  But  a  woman — oh,  shuckin's, 
whut's  the  use?" 

Corner  of  Chickasaw  Drive  and  Sycamore 
Avenue: 

"Still,  of  course  we've  got  to  figger  the  baby 
as  a  prime  factor  enterin'  into  the  case  and 
helpin'  to  straighten  things  out.  Spry  little 
trick  fur  three  days  old,  goin'  on  four,  wuzn't 
she?  Ought  to  be  purty,  too,  when  she  gits 
herself  some  hair  and  a  few  teeth  and  plumps 
out  so's  she  taken  up  the  slack  of  them  million 
wrinkles,  more  or  less,  that  she's  got  now. 
Babies,  now — great  institutions  anyway  you 
take  'em." 

Corner  of  Sycamore  Avenue,  turning  into 
Clay  Street: 

"And  still,  dog-gone  it,  you'll  find  folks  in 

this  world  so  blind  that  they'll  tell  you  destiny 

or  fate,  or  whutever  you  want  to  call  it,  jest 

goes  along  doin'  things  by  haphazard  without 

[Toil 


THE      C  A  T  E  R  -  C  O  R  N  E  R  E  D     SEX 

no  workin'  plans  and  no  fixed  designs.  But 
me,  I'm  different — me.  I  regard  the  scheme 
of  creation  ez  a  hell  of  a  success.  Look  at  this 
affair  fur  a  minute.  I  go  meddlin'  along  like 
an  officious,  absent-minded  idiot,  which  I  am, 
and  jest  when  it  looks  like  no  thin*  is  goin'  to 
result  frum  my  interference  but  fresh  heart 
aches  fur  one  of  the  noblest  souls  that  ever 
lived  on  this  here  footstool,  why  the  firm  of 
Providence,  Pedalosky  and  Poindexter  steps  in, 
and  bang,  there  you  are!  It  wouldn't  happen 
agin  probably  in  a  thousand  years,  but  it  shore 
happened  this  oncet,  I'll  tell  the  world.  Let's 
see,  now,  how  does  that  there  line  in  the  hymn 
book  run? — *  moves  in  a  mysterious  way  His 
wonders  to  perform.'  Ain't  it  the  truth?" 

Last  street  lamp  on  Clay  Street  before  you 
come  to  Judge  Priest's  house: 

"And  they  call  'em  the  opposite  sex!  I 
claim  the  feller  that  fust  coined  that  there  line 
wuz  a  powerful  conservative  pusson.  Oppo 
site?  Huh!  Listen  here  to  me:  They're 
so  dad-gum  opposite  they're  plum'  eater-cor 
nered!" 


[103] 


CHAPTER  III 
A  SHORT  NATURAL  HISTORY 


IF  EVER  a  person  might  be  said  to  have 
dedicated  his  being  to  the  pursuit  of  lei 
sure,  that  selfsame  was  Red  Hoss  Shackle- 
ford,  of  color,  and  highly  so.  He  was  one 
who  specialized  in  the  deft  and  fine  high  art  of 
doing  nothing  at  all.  With  him  leisure  was  at 
once  a  calling  to  be  followed  regularly  and  an 
ideal  to  be  fostered.  But  also  he  loved  to  eat, 
and  he  had  a  fancy  for  wearing  gladsome  gear 
ings,  and  these  cravings  occasionally  interfered 
with  the  practice  of  his  favorite  vocation.  In 
order  that  he  might  enjoy  long  periods  of  man 
ual  inactivity  it  devolved  upon  him  at  intervals 
to  devote  his  reluctant  energies  to  gainful  labor. 
When  driven  to  it  by  necessity,  which  is  said 
to  be  the  mother  of  invention  and  which  cer 
tainly  is  the  full  sister  to  appetite,  Red  Hoss 
worked.  He  just  naturally  had  to — sometimes. 
You  see,  in  the  matter  of  being  maintained 
vicariously  he  was  less  fortunately  circum- 
stanced  than  so  many  of  his  fellows  in  our  town 


A      SHORT      NATURAL      HISTORY 

were,  and  still  are.  He  had  no  ministering 
parent  doing  cookery  for  the  white  folks,  and 
by  night,  in  accordance  with  a  time-hallowed 
custom  with  which  no  sane  housekeeper  dared 
meddle,  bringing  home  under  a  dolman  cape 
loaded  tin  buckets  and  filled  wicker  baskets. 
Ginger  Dismukes,  now — to  cite  a  conspicuous 
example — was  one  thus  favored  by  the  indul 
gent  fates. 

Aunt  Ca'line  Dismukes,  mother  of  the  above, 
was  as  honest  as  the  day  was  long;  but  when 
the  evening  of  that  day  came,  such  trifles,  say, 
as  part  of  a  ham  or  a  few  left-over  slices  of 
cake  fell  to  her  as  a  legitimate  if  unadvertised 
salvage.  Every  time  the  quality  in  the  big 
house  had  white  meat  for  their  dinner,  Gin 
ger,  down  the  alley,  enjoyed  drumsticks  and 
warmed-up  stuffing  for  his  late  supper.  He 
might  be  like  the  tapeworm  in  that  he  rarely 
knew  in  advance  what  he  would  have  to  eat, 
but  still,  like  the  tapeworm,  he  gratefully  ab 
sorbed  what  was  put  before  him  and  asked  no 
questions  of  the  benefactor.  Without  prior  ef 
fort  on  his  part  he  was  fed  even  as  the  Prophet 
Elijah  was  fed  by  the  ravens  of  old.  This 
simile  would  acquire  added  strength  if  you'd 
ever  seen  Aunt  Ca'line,  her  complexion  being  a 
crow's-wing  sable. 

Red  Hoss  had  no  dependable  helpmate,  such 
as  Luther  Maydew  had,  with  a  neatly  lettered 
sign  in  her  front  window:  GoiNG-OuT  WASH 
ING  TAKEN  IN  HERE.  Luther's  wife  was  Lu- 

[105] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


ther's  only  visible  means  of  support,  yet  Luther 
waxed  fat  and  shiny  and  larded  the  earth  when 
he  walked  abroad.  Neither  had  Red  Hoss  an 
indulgent  and  generous  patron  such  as  Judge 
Priest's  Jeff — Jeff  Poindexter — boasted  in  the 
person  of  his  master.  Neither  was  he  gifted  in 
the  manipulation  of  the  freckled  bones  as  the 
late  Smooth  Crumbaugh  had  been;  nor  yet 
possessed  he  the  skill  of  shadow  boxing  as  that 
semiprofessional  pugilist,  Con  Lake,  possessed 
it.  Con  could  lick  any  shadow  that  ever  lived, 
and  the  punching  bag  that  could  stand  up  be 
fore  his  onslaughts  was  not  manufactured  yet; 
wherefore  he  figured  in  exhibition  bouts  and 
boxing  benefits,  and  between  these  lived  soft 
and  easy.  He  enjoyed  no  such  sinecure  as  fell 
to  the  lot  of  Uncle  Zack  Matthews,  who  waited 
on  the  white  gentlemen's  poker  game  at  the 
Richland  House,  thereby  harvesting  many  tips 
and  whose  otherwise  nimble  mind  became  a 
perfect  blank  twice  a  year  when  he  was  sum 
moned  before  the  grand  jury. 

Red  Hoss  did,  indeed,  have  a  sister,  but  the 
relations  between  them  were  strained  since  the 
day  when  Red  Hoss'  funeral  obsequies  had 
been  inopportunely  interrupted  by  the  sudden 
advent  among  the  mourners  of  the  supposedly 
deceased,  returning  drippingly  from  the  river 
which  presumably  had  engulfed  him.  His  un 
expected  and  embarrassing  reappearance  had 
practically  spoiled  the  service  for  his  chief  rela- 
tive.  She  never  had  forgiven  Red  Hoss  for  his 
[106] 


A      SHORT      NATURAL      HISTORY 

failure  to  stay  dead,  and  he  long  since  had 
ceased  to  look  for  free  pone  bread  and  poke 
chops  in  that  quarter. 

So  when  he  had  need  to  eat,  or  when  his 
wardrobe  required  replenishing,  he  worked  at 
odd  jobs;  but  not  oftener.  Ordinarily  speak 
ing,  his  heart  was  not  in  it  at  all.  But  at  the 
time  when  this  narrative  begins  his  heart  was 
in  it.  One  speaks  figuratively  here  in  order 
likewise  to  speak  literally.  A  romantic  en 
terprise  carried  on  by  Red  Hoss  Shackleford 
through  a  period  of  months  promised  now  a 
delectable  climax.  As  between  him  and  one 
Melissa  Grider  an  engagement  to  join  them 
selves  together  in  the  bonds  of  matrimony  had 
been  arranged. 

Before  he  fell  under  Melissa's  spell  Red  Hoss 
had  been  regarded  as  one  of  the  confirmed 
bachelors  of  the  Plunkett's  Hill  younger  set. 
He  had  never  noticeably  favored  marriage  and 
giving  in  marriage — especially  giving  himself 
in  marriage.  It  may  have  been — indeed  the 
forked  tongue  of  gossip  so  had  it — that  the 
fervor  of  Red  Hoss'  courting,  when  once  he 
did  turn  suitor,  had  been  influenced  by  the  for 
tuitous  fact  that  Melissa  ran  as  chambermaid 
on  the  steamboat  Jessie  B.  The  fact  outstand 
ing,  though,  was  that  Red  Hoss,  having  ar 
dently  wooed,  seemed  now  about  to  win. 

But  Melissa,  that  comely  and  comfortable 
person,  remained  practical  even  when  most 
loving.  The  grandeur  of  Red  Hoss'  dress-up 
[107] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


clothes  may  have  entranced  her,  and  certainly 
his  conversational  brilliancy  was  altogether  in 
his  favor,  but  beyond  the  glamour  of  the  pres 
ent,  Melissa  had  the  vision  to  appraise  the  pos 
sibilities  of  the  future.  Before  finally  commit 
ting  herself  to  the  hymeneal  venture  she  re 
quired  it  of  her  swain  that  he  produce  and 
place  in  her  capable  hands  for  safe-keeping, 
first,  the  money  required  to  purchase  the  li 
cense;  second,  the  amount  of  the  fee  for  the 
officiating  clergyman;  and  third,  cash  suffi 
cient  to  pay  the  expenses  of  a  joint  wedding 
journey  to  St.  Louis  and  return.  It  was  speci 
fied  that  the  traveling  must  be  conducted  on  a 
mutual  basis,  which  would  require  round-trip 
tickets  for  both  of  them.  Melissa,  before  now, 
had  heard  of  these  one-sided  bridal  tours.  If 
Red  Hoss  went  anywhere  to  celebrate  being 
married  she  meant  to  go  along  with  him. 

Altogether,  under  these  headings,  a  com 
puted  aggregate  of  at  least  eighty  dollars  was 
needed.  With  his  eyes  set  then  on  this  finan 
cial  goal,  Red  Hoss  sought  service  in  the  marts 
of  trade.  Perhaps  the  unwonted  eagerness  he 
displayed  in  this  regard  may  have  been  quick 
ened  by  the  prospect  that  the  irksomeness  of 
employment  before  marriage  would  be  made 
up  to  him  after  the  event  in  a  vacation  more 
prolonged  than  any  his  free  spirit  had  ever 
known.  Still,  that  part  of  it  is  none  of  our 
affair.  For  our  purposes  it  is  sufficient  to  re- 
cord  that  the  campaign  for  funds  had  pro- 
[  108  ] 


A      SHORT      NATURAL      HISTORY 

gressed  to  a  point  where  practically  fifty  per 
cent  of  the  total  specified  by  his  prudent  in 
amorata  already  had  been  earned,  collected 
and,  in  accordance  with  the  compact,  intrusted 
to  the  custodianship  of  one  who  was  at  once 
fiancee  and  trustee. 

•«On  a  fine  autumnal  day  Red  Hoss  made  a 
beginning  at  the  task  of  amassing  the  remain 
ing  half  of  the  prenuptial  sinking  fund  by  ac 
cepting  an  assignment  to  deliver  a  milch  cow, 
newly  purchased  by  Mr.  Dick  Bell,  to  Mr. 
Bell's  dairy  farm  three  miles  from  town  on  the 
Blandsville  Road.  This  was  a  form  of  toil  all 
the  more  agreeable  to  Red  Hoss — that  is  to 
say,  if  any  form  of  toil  whatsoever  could  be 
deemed  agreeable  to  him  —  since  cows  when 
traveling  from  place  to  place  are  accustomed 
to  move  languidly.  By  reason  of  this  common 
sharing  of  an  antipathy  against  undue  haste, 
it  was  late  afternoon  before  the  herder  and  the 
herded  reached  the  latter's  future  place  of  resi 
dence;  and  it  was  almost  dusk  when  Red  Hoss, 
returning  alone,  came  along  past  Lone  Oak 
Cemetery.  Just  ahead  of  him,  from  out  of  the 
weed  tangle  hedging  a  gap  in  the  cemetery 
fence,  a  half -grown  rabbit  hopped  abroad.  The 
cottontail  rambled  a  few  yards  down  the  road, 
then  erected  itself  on  its  rear  quarters  and  with 
adolescent  foolhardiness  contemplated  the  scen 
ery.  In  his  hand  Red  Hoss  still  carried  the 
long  hickory  stick  with  which  he  had  guided 
the  steps  of  Mr.  Bell's  new  cow.  He  flung  his 
[109] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


staff  at  the  inviting  mark  now  presented  to 
him.  Whirling  in  its  flight,  it  caught  its  target 
squarely  across  the  neck,  and  the  rabbit  died 
so  quickly  it  did  not  have  time  to  squeak,  and 
barely  time  to  kick. 

Now  it  is  known  of  all  men  that  luck  of  two 
widely  different  kinds  resides  in  the  left  hind 
foot  of  a  graveyard  rabbit.  There  is  bad  luck 
in  it  for  the  rabbit  itself,  seeing  that  the  cir 
cumstance  of  its  having  a  left  hind  foot,  to 
begin  with,  renders  life  for  that  rabbit  more 
perilous  even  than  is  the  life  of  a  commonplace 
rabbit.  But  there  is  abiding  good  luck  in  it  for 
the  human  who  falls  heir  to  the  foot  after  the 
original  possessor  has  passed  away.  To  insure 
the  maximum  of  fair  fortune  for  the  legatee, 
the  rabbit  while  in  the  act  of  jumping  over  a 
sunken  grave  in  the  dark  of  the  moon  should 
be  killed  with  a  crooked  stick  which  a  dead 
man  has  carried;  but  since  there  is  no  known 
record  of  a  colored  person  hanging  round 
sunken  graves  in  the  dark  of  the  moon,  the  left 
hind  foot  of  an  authentic  graveyard  rabbit 
slain  under  any  circumstances  is  a  charm  of 
rare  preciousness. 

With  murky  twilight  impending,  it  was  not 
for  Red  Hoss  Shackleford  to  linger  for  long  in 
the  vicinity  of  a  burying  ground.  Already,  in 
the  gloaming,  the  white  fence  palings  gleamed 
spectrally  and  the  shadows  were  thickening  in 
the  honeysuckle  jungles  beyond  them.  Nor 

was  it  for  him  to  think  of  eating  the  flesh  of  a 
___ 


A     SHORT     NATURAL     HISTORY 

graveyard  rabbit,  even  though  it  be  plump  and 
youthful,  as  this  one  was. 

Graveyard  rabbits,  when  indubitably  known 
to  be  such,  decorate  no  Afro-American  skillet. 
Destiny  has  called  them  higher  than  frying 
pans. 

Almost  before  the  victim  of  his  aim  had 
twitched  its  valedictory  twitch  he  was  upon  it. 
In  his  hand,  ready  for  use,  was  his  razor;  not 
his  shaving  razor,  but  the  razor  he  carried  for 
social  purposes.  He  bent  down,  and  with  the 
blade  made  swift  slashes  right  and  left  at  a 
limber  ankle  joint,  then  rose  again  and  was 
briskly  upon  his  homeward  way,  leaving  be 
hind  him  the  maimed  carcass,  a  rumpled  little 
heap,  lying  in  the  dust.  A  dozen  times  before 
he  reached  his  boarding  house  he  fingered  the 
furry  talisman  where  it  rested  in  the  bottom  of 
his  hip  pocket,  and  each  touching  of  it  con 
veyed  to  him  added  confidences  in  propitious 
auguries. 

Surely  enough,  on  the  very  next  day  but 
one,  events  seemed  organizing  themselves  with 
a  view  to  justifying  his  anticipations.  As  a 
consequence  of  the  illness  of  Tom  Mont  joy  he 
was  offered  and  accepted  what  promised  to  be 
for  the  time  being  a  lucrative  position  as  Tom 
Montjoy's  substitute  on  the  back  end  of  one  of 
Fowler  &  Givens'  ice  wagons.  The  Eighteenth 
Amendment  was  not  as  yet  an  accomplished 
fact,  though  the  dread  menace  of  it  hung  over 
that  commonwealth  which  had  within  its  con- 

[in] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


fines  the  largest  total  number  of  distilleries  and 
bonded  warehouses  to  be  found  in  any  state  of 
this  union.  Observing  no  hope  of  legislative 
relief,  sundry  local  saloon  keepers  had  failed  to 
renew  their  licenses  as  these  expired.  But  for 
every  saloon  which  closed  its  doors  it  seemed 
there  was  a  soda  fountain  set  up  to  fizz  and  to 
spout;  and  the  books  of  Fowler  &  Givens 
showed  the  name  of  a  new  customer  to  replace 
each  vanished  old  one.  So  trade  ran  its  even 
course,  and  Red  Hoss  was  retained  temporarily 
to  understudy,  as  it  were,  the  invalid  Mont- 
joy. 

In  an  afternoon  lull  following  the  earlier  rush 
of  deliveries  Mr.  Ham  Givens  came  out  to 
where  Tallow  Dick  Evans,  Bill  Tilghman  and 
Red  Hoss  reclined  at  ease  in  the  lee  of  the  ice 
factory's  blank  north  wall  and  bade  Red  Hoss 
hook  up  one  of  the  mules  to  the  light  single 
wagon  and  carry  three  of  the  hundred-pound 
blocks  out  to  Biederman's  ex-corner  saloon, 
now  Biederman's  soft-drink  and  ice-cream  em 
porium,  at  Ninth  and  Washington. 

"Better  let  him  take  Blue  Wing,"  said  Mr. 
Givens,  addressing  Bill  Tilghman,  who  by  vir 
tue  of  priority  of  service  and  a  natural  affinity 
for  draft  stock  was  stable  boss  for  the  firm. 

It  was  Bill  Tilghman  who  once  had  delivered 
himself  of  the  sage  remark  that  "A  mule  an'  a 
nigger  is  'zackly  alike — 'specially  de  mule." 

"Can't  tek  Blue  Wing,  Mist'  Givens,"  an- 
swered  Bill.  "She  done  went  up  to  Mist'  Gal- 


A     SHORT     NATURAL     HISTORY 

lowayses'  blacksmith  shop  to  git  herse'f  some 
new  shoes." 

This  pluralization  of  a  familiar  name  was 
evidence  on  Bill  Tilghman's  part  of  the  esti 
mation  in  which  he  held  our  leading  farrier, 
Mr.  P.  J.  Galloway. 

"All  right,  take  one  of  the  other  mules  then. 
But  get  a  hustle  on,"  ordered  Mr.  Givens  as 
he  reentered  his  office. 

"Dat  bein'  de  case,  I  reckin  I'll  tek  dat 
white  Frank  mule,"  said  Red  Hoss.  "'Tain't 
no  use  of  him  standin'  in  de  stall  eatin'  his  ole 
fool  haid  off  jes'  'cause  Tom  Montjoy  is  laid 
up." 

"Boy,"  said  Bill  Tilghman,  "lissen!  You 
'cept  a  word  of  frien'ship  an'  warnin'  f'um 
somebody  dat's  been  kicked  by  more  mules  'en 
whut  you  ever  seen  in  yore  whole  life,  an'  you 
let  dat  Frank  mule  stay  right  whar  he  is.  You 
kin  have  yore  choice  of  de  Maud  mule  or  de 
Maggie  mule  or  Friday  or  January  Thaw;  but 
my  edvice  to  you  is,  jes'  leave  dat  Frank  mule 
be  an'  don't  pester  him  none." 

"How  come?  "  demanded  Red  Hoss.  "I  reck- 
in  I  got  de  strength  to  drive  ary  mule  dey  is." 

"I  ain't  sayin'  you  ain't,"  stated  Bill  Tilgh 
man.  "A  born  ijiot  could  drive  dat  mule,  so 
I  jedge  you  mout  mek  out  to  qualify.  'Tain't 
de  drivin'  of  him — hit's  de  hitchin'  up  of  him 
which  I  speaks  of." 

Tallow  Dick  put  in,  "Hit's  dis  way  wid  dat 
Frank:  In  his  early  chilehood  somebody  mus- 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


ter  done  somethin'  painful  to  dat  mule's  haid, 
an'  it  seem  lak  it  lef  one  ondurin'  scar  in  his 
mind.  Anyway,  f'um  dat  day  hencefor'ard  he 
ain't  let  nobody  a-tall,  let  alone  hit's  a  plum' 
stranger  to  him  lak  you  is,  go  prankin'  round 
his  haid.  Ef  you  think  a  mule's  back  end  is 
his  dangersome  end  you  jes'  try  to  walk  up  to 
ole  Frank  face  to  face,  ez  nigger  to  mule,  an' 
try  to  hang  de  mule  jewelry  over  his  years. 
Da's  all,  jes'  try  it!  Tom  Montjoy  is  de  onliest 
one  which  kin  slip  de  bit  in  dat  mule's  mouf, 
an'  de  way  he  do  it  is  to  go  into  de  nex'  stall 
an'  keep  speakin'  soothin'  words  to  him,  an' 
put  de  bridle  on  him  f'um  behinehand  of  his 
shoulder  lak.  But  when  Tom  Montjoy  ain't 
wukkin',  de  Frank  mule  he  ain't  wukkin'  neither 
any.  Yessuh,  Tom  Montjoy  is  de  sole  one 
which  dat  Frank  mule  gives  his  confidences  to, 
sech  as  dey  is." 

Red  Hoss  snorted  his  contempt  for  his  warn 
ing. 

"Huh,  de  trouble  wid  dat  mule  is  he's  pam 
pered!  You  niggers  done  pamper  him  twell  he 
think  he  owns  dese  whole  ice-factory  prem 
ises.  Whut  he  need  fur  whut  ails  him  is  some 
body  which  ain't  skeered  of  him.  Me,  I  aims 
to  go  'crost  to  dat  stable  barn  over  yonder 
'crost  de  street  an'  walk  right  in  de  same  stall 
wid  dat  Frank  same  ez  whut  I  would  wid  ary 
other  mule,  an'  ef  he  mek  jes'  one  pass  at  me 
I'm  gwine  up  wid  my  fistes  an'  give  him  some- 
thin'  to  brood  over." 


A      SHORT      NATURAL      HISTORY 

Bill  Tilghman  looked  at  Tallow  Dick,  look 
ing  at  him  sorrowfully,  as  though  haunted  by 
forebodings  of  an  impending  tragedy,  and  shook 
his  head  slowly  from  side  to  side.  Tallow  Dick 
returned  the  glance  in  kind,  and  then  both  of 
them  gazed  steadfastly  at  the  vainglorious  new 
hand. 

"Son,  boy,"  inquired  old  Bill  softly,  "whut 
is  de  name  of  yore  mos'  favorite  hymn?" 

"Whut  my  favorite  hymn  got  to  do  wid 
it?" 

"Oh,  nothin',  only  I  wuz  jes'  studyin'.  Set- 
tin'  yere,  I  got  to  thinkin'  dat  mebbe  dey  wuz 
some  purticular  tune  you  might  lak  sung  at 
de  grave." 

"An5  whilst  you's  tellin'  Unc'  Bill  dat  much, 
you  mout  also  tell  us  whar  'bouts  in  dis  town 
you  lives  at?"  added  Tallow  Dick. 

"You  knows  good  an'  well  whar  I  lives  at," 
snapped  Red  Hoss. 

"I  thought  mebbe  you  mout  'a'  moved," 
said  Tallow  Dick  mildly.  "Twouldn't  never 
do  fur  me  an'  Bill  yere  to  be  totin'  de  remains 
to  de  wrong  address'.  Been  my  experience  dat 
nothin'  ain't  mo'  onwelcome  at  a  strange  house 
'en  a  daid  nigger,  especially  one  dat's  about  six 
feet  two  inches  long  an'  all  mussed  up  wid  fresh 
mule  tracks." 

"Huh!     You  two  ole  fools  is  jes'  talkin'  to 

hear  yo'se'fs  talk,"  quoth  Red  Hoss.     "All  I 

axes  you  to  do  is  jes'  set  quiet  yere,  an'  in 

'bout  six  minutes  f'um  now  you'll  see  me  lead- 

[115] ~~ 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


in'  a  tamed-down  white  mule  wid  de  britchin' 
all  on  him  outen  through  dem  stable  barn 
do's." 

"All  right,  honey,  have  it  yo'  own  way.  Ef 
you  won't  hearken  an'  you  won't  heed,  go 
ahaid!"  stated  Uncle  Bill,  with  a  wave  of  his 
hand.  "You  ain't  too  young  to  die,  even  ef 
you  is  too  ole  to  learn.  Only  I  trust  an'  prays 
dat  you  won't  be  blamin'  nobody  but  yo'se'f 
'bout  this  time  day  after  to-mor'  evenin'  w'en 
de  sexton  of  Mount  Zion  Cullud  Cemetery 
starts  pattin'  you  in  de  face  wid  a  spade." 

"Unc'  Bill,  you  said  a  moufful  den,"  added 
Tallow  Dick.  "De  way  I  looks  at  it,  dey  ain't 
no  use  handin'  out  sense  to  a  nigger  ef  he  ain't 
got  no  place  to  put  it.  'Sides,  dese  things  offen- 
times  turns  out  fur  de  best;  orphants  leaves 
de  fewest  mourners.  Good-by,  Red  Hoss,  an' 
kindly  give  my  reguards  to  any  frien's  of  mine 
dat  you  meets  up  wid  on  'yother  side  of  Jor 
dan." 

With  another  derisive  grunt,  Red  Hoss  rose 
from  where  he  had  been  resting,  angled  to  the 
opposite  side  of  the  street  and  disappeared 
within  the  stable.  For  perhaps  ninety  seconds 
after  he  was  gone  the  remaining  two  sat  in  an 
attitude  of  silent  waiting.  Their  air  was  that 
of  a  pair  of  black  seers  who  likewise  happen  to 
be  fatalists,  and  who  having  conscientiously 
discharged  a  duty  of  prophecy  now  await  with 
calmness  the  fulfillment  of  what  had  been  fore 
told.  Then  they  heard,  over  there  where  Red 
[116] 


A      SHORT      NATURAL      HISTORY 

Hoss  had  vanished,  a  curious  muffled  outcry. 
As  they  subsequently  described  it,  this  sound 
was  neither  shriek  nor  moan,  neither  oath  nor 
prayer.  They  united  in  the  declaration  that  it 
was  more  in  the  nature  of  a  strangled  squeak, 
as  though  a  very  large  rat  had  suddenly  been 
trodden  beneath  an  even  larger  foot.  How 
ever,  for  all  its  strangeness,  they  rightfully  in 
terpreted  it  to  be  an  appeal  for  succor.  To 
gether  they  rose  and  ran  across  Water  Street 
and  into  the  stable. 

The  Frank  mule  had  snapped  his  tether  and, 
freed,  was  backing  himself  out  into  the  open. 
If  a  mule  might  be  said  to  pick  his  teeth,  here 
was  a  mule  doing  that  very  thing.  Crumpled 
under  the  manger  of  the  stall  he  just  had 
quitted  was  a  huddled  shape.  The  rescuers 
drew  it  forth,  and  in  the  clear  upon  the  earthen 
stable  floor  they  stretched  it.  It  was  recog 
nizable  as  the  form  of  Red  Hoss  Shackleford. 

Red  Hoss  seemed  numbed  rather  than  un 
conscious.  Afterward  Bill  Tilghman  in  recount 
ing  the  affair  claimed  that  Red  Hoss,  when 
discovered,  was  practically  nude  clear  down  to 
his  shoes,  which  being  of  the  variety  known  as 
congress  gaiters  had  elastic  uppers  to  hug  the 
ankles.  This  snugness  of  fit,  he  thought,  un 
doubtedly  explained  why  they  had  stayed  on 
when  all  the  rest  of  the  victim's  costume  came 
off.  In  his  version,  Tallow  Dick  averred  he 
took  advantage  of  the  circumstance  of  Red 
Hoss'  being  almost  totally  undressed  to  tally 


SUNDRY      ACCOUNTS 

up  bruise  marks  as  counter-distinguished  from 
tooth  marks,  and  found  one  of  the  former  for 
every  two  sets  of  the  latter.  From  this  dis 
parity  in  the  count,  and  lacking  other  evidence, 
he  was  bound  to  conclude  that  considerable 
butting  had  been  done  before  the  biting  started. 

However,  these  conclusions  were  to  be  ar 
rived  at  later.  For  the  moment  the  older  men 
busied  themselves  with  fanning  Red  Hoss  and 
with  sluicing  a  bucket  of  water  over  him.  His 
first  intelligible  words  upon  partially  reviving 
seemed  at  the  moment  of  their  utterance  to 
have  no  direct  bearing  upon  that  which  had 
just  occurred.  It  was  what  he  said  next  which, 
in  the  minds  of  the  hearers,  established  the 
proper  connection. 

"White  folks  suttinly  is  curious."  Such  was 
his  opening  remark,  following  the  water  appli 
cation.  "An5  also,  dey  suttinly  do  git  up  some 
mouty  curious  laws."  He  paused  a  moment 
as  though  in  a  still  slightly  dazed  contempla 
tion  of  the  statutory  idiosyncrasies  of  the  Cau 
casian,  and  then  added  the  key  words:  "F'rin- 
stance,  now,  dey  got  a  law  dat  you  got  to  keep 
lions  an'  tigers  in  a  cage.  Yassuh,  da's  de  law. 
Can't  no  circus  go  'bout  de  country  widout  de 
lions  an'  de  tigers  an'  de  highyenas  is  lock'  up 
hard  an'  fas'  in  a  cage."  Querulously  his  voice 
rose  in  a  tone  of  wondering  complain tfulness: 
"An'  yit  dey  delibert'ly  lets  a  man-eatin'  mule 
go  ramblin'  round  loose,  wid  nothin'  on  him 

but  a  rope  halter."  

[118] 


A      SHORT      NATURAL      HISTORY 

Across  the  prostrate  form  of  the  speaker  Bill 
Tilghman  eyed  Tallow  Dick  in  the  reminiscent 
manner  of  one  striving  to  recall  the  exact 
words  of  a  certain  quotation  and  murmured, 
"De  trouble  wid  dat  Frank  mule  is  dat  he's 
pampered." 

"Br'er  Tilghman,"  answered  back  Tallow 
Dick  solemnly,  "you  done  said  it — de  mule  is 
been  pampered!" 

The  sufferer  stirred  and  blinked  and  sat  up 
dizzily. 

"Uh-huh,"  he  assented.  "An'  jes'  ez  soon 
ez  I  gits  some  of  my  strength  back  ag'in,  an' 
some  mo'  clothes  on,  I'm  gwine  tek  de  longes', 
sharpes'  pitchfork  dey  is  in  dis  yere  stable  an' 
I'm  gwine  pamper  dat  devilish  mule  wid  it  fur 
'bout  three-quarters  of  an  hour  stiddy." 

But  he  didn't.  If  he  really  cherished  any 
such  disciplinary  designs  he  abandoned  them 
next  morning  at  sunup,  when,  limping  slightly, 
he  propped  open  the  stable  doors  preparatory 
to  invading  its  interior.  The  white  demon, 
which  appeared  to  have  the  facility  of  snapping 
his  bonds  whenever  so  inclined,  came  sliding 
out  of  the  darkness  toward  him,  a  malignant 
and  menacing  apparition,  with  a  glow  of  ani 
mosity  in  two  deep-set  eyes  and  with  a  pair  of 
prehensile  lips  curled  back  to  display  more 
teeth  than  by  rights  an  alligator  should  have. 
It  was  immediately  evident  to  Red  Hoss  that 
in  the  Frank  mule's  mind  a  deep-seated  aver 
sion  for  him  had  been  engendered.  He  had  the 

__ 


SUNDRY      ACCOUNTS 


feeling  that  potential  ill  health  lurked  in  that 
neighborhood;  that  death  and  destruction,  rid 
ing  on  a  pale  mule,  might  canter  up  at  any 
moment.  Personally,  he  decided  to  let  bygones 
be  bygones.  He  dropped  the  grudge  as  he  tum 
bled  backward  through  the  stable  doors  and 
slammed  them  behind  him.  That  same  day  he 
went  to  Mr.  Ham  Givens  and  announced  his 
intention  of  immediately  breaking  off  his  pres 
ent  associations  with  the  firm. 

"Me,  I  is  done  quit  foolin'  wid  ole  ice  wag- 
gins,"  he  announced  airily  after  Mr.  Givens 
had  given  him  his  time.  "Hit  seems  lak  my 
gift  is  fur  machinery." 

"A  pusson  which  wuz  keerful  wouldn't  trust 
you  wid  a  shoe  buttoner — dat's  how  high  I  re- 
guards  yore  gift  fur  machinery,"  commented 
Bill  Tilghman  acidly.  Red  Hoss  chose  to  ig 
nore  the  slur.  Anyhow,  at  the  moment  he  could 
put  his  tongue  to  no  appropriate  sentence  of 
counter  repartee.  He  continued  as  though  there 
had  been  no  interruption: 

"  Yassuh,  de  nex'  time  you  two  pore  ole  foot- 
an'-mouth  teamsters  sees  me  I'll  come  tearin' 
by  yere  settin'  up  on  de  boiler  deck  of  a  taxis- 
cab.  You  better  step  lively  to  git  out  of  de 
way  fur  me  den." 

"I  'lows  to  do  so,"  assented  Bill.  "I  ain't 
aimin'  to  git  shot  wid  no  stray  bullets." 

"How  come  stray  bullets?" 

"Anytime  I  sees  you  runnin'  a  taxiscab  I'll 
know  by  dat  sign  alone  dat  de  sheriff  an'  de 
[120] 


A      SHORT      NATURAL      HISTORY 

man  which  owns  de  taxiscab  will  be  right  be- 
hine  you — da's  whut  I  means." 

"Don't  pay  no  'tention  to  Unc'  Bill,"  put  in 
Tallow  Dick.  "Whar  you  aim  to  git  dis  yere 
taxiscab,  Red  Hoss?" 

"Mist'  Lee  Farrell  he's  done  start  up  a  regu 
lar  taxiscab  line,"  expounded  Red  Hoss.  "He's 
lookin'  fur  some  smart,  spry  cullid  men  ez 
drivers.  Dat  natchelly  bars  you  two  out,  but 
it  lets  me  in.  Mist'  Lee  Farrell  he  teach  you 
de  trade  fust,  an'  den  he  gives  you  three  dol 
lars  a  day,  an'  you  keeps  all  de  tips  you  teks 
in.  So  it's  so  long  and  fare  you  well  to  you 
mule  lovers,  'ca'se  Ise  on  my  way  to  pick  myse' 
out  my  taxiscab." 

"Be  sure  to  pick  yo'se'f  out  one  which  ain't 
been  pampered,"  was  Bill  Tilghman's  parting 
shot. 

"Nummine  dat  part,"  retorted  Red  Hoss. 
"You  jes'  remember  dis  after  I'm  gone:  Mules' 
niggers  an'  niggers'  mules  is  'bout  to  go  out  of 
style  in  dis  man's  town." 

In  a  way  of  speaking,  Red  Hoss  in  his  final 
taunt  had  the  rights  of  it.  Lumbering  drays 
no  longer  runneled  with  their  broad  iron  tires 
the  red-graveled  flanks  of  the  levee  leading 
down  to  the  wharf  boats.  They  had  given  way 
almost  altogether  to  bulksome  motor  trucks. 
Closed  hacks  still  found  places  in  funeral  pro 
cessions,  but  black  chaser  craft,  gasoline  driven 
and  snorting  furiously,  met  all  incoming  trains 
and  sped  to  all  outgoing  ones.  Betimes,  be- 
[121] 


SUNDRY      ACCOUNTS 


holding  as  it  were  the  handwriting  on  the  wall, 
that  enterprising  liveryman,  Mr.  Lee  Farrell, 
had  set  up  a  garage  and  a  service  station  on 
the  site  of  his  demolished  stable,  and  now  was 
the  fleet  commander  of  a  whole  squadron  of 
these  tin-armored  destroyers. 

Under  his  tutelage  Red  Hoss  proved  a  rea 
sonably  apt  pupil.  At  the  end  of  an  appren 
ticeship  covering  a  fortnight  he  matriculated 
into  a  regular  driver,  with  a  badge  and  a  cap 
to  prove  it  and  a  place  on  the  night  shift.  Red 
Hoss  felt  impressive,  and  bore  himself  accord 
ingly.  He  began  taking  sharp  turns  on  two 
wheels.  He  took  one  such  turn  too  many.  On 
Friday  night  of  his  first  week  as  a  graduate 
chauffeur  he  steered  his  car  headlong  into  a 
smash-up  from  which  she  emerged  with  a  dished 
front  wheel  and  a  permanent  marcel  wave  in 
one  fender.  As  he  nursed  the  cripple  back  to 
the  garage  Red  Hoss  exercised  an  imagination 
which  never  yet  had  failed  him,  and  fabricated 
an  explanation  so  plausibly  shaped  and  phrased 
as  to  absolve  him  of  all  blameful  responsibility 
for  the  mishap. 

Mr.  Farrell  listened  to  and  accepted  this  ac 
count  of  the  accident  with  no  more  than  a  pass 
ing  exhibition  of  natural  irritation;  but  next 
morning  when  Attorney  Sublette  called,  ac 
companied  by  an  irate  client  with  a  claim  for 
damages  sustained  to  a  market  wagon,  and 
bringing  with  him  also  the  testimony  of  at 
least  two  disinterested  eye-witnesses  to  prove 
[122]  


A     SHORT     NATURAL     HISTORY 

upon  whose  shoulders  the  fault  must  rest,  Mr. 
Farrell  somewhat  lost  his  customary  air  of  sus 
tained  calm.  Cursing  softly  under  his  breath, 
he  settled  on  the  spot  with  a  cash  compromise; 
and  then  calling  the  offender  to  his  presence, 
he  used  strong  and  bitter  words. 

"Look  here,  boy,"  he  proclaimed,  "I've  let 
you  off  this  time  with  a  cussing,  but  next  time 
anything  happens  to  a  car  that  you  are  driving 
you've  got  to  come  clean  with  me.  It  ain't  to 
be  expected  that  a  lot  of  crazy  darkies  can  go 
sky-hooting  round  this  town  driving  pot-metal 
omnibuses  for  me  without  one  of  them  getting 
in  a  smash-up  about  every  so  often,  and  I'm 
carrying  accident  insurance  and  liability  insur 
ance  to  cover  my  risks;  but  next  time  you  get 
into  a  jam  I  want  you  to  come  through  with 
the  absolute  facts  in  the  case,  so's  I'll  know 
where  I  stand  and  how  to  protect  myself  in 
court  or  out  of  it.  I  don't  care  two  bits  whose 
fault  it  is — your  fault  or  some  other  lunatic's 
fault.  The  truth  is  what  I  want — the  truth, 
the  whole  truth  and  nothing  but  the  truth,  so 
help  you  God.  And  He'll  need  to  help  you  if 
I  catch  you  lying  again !  Get  me?" 

"Boss,"  said  Red  Hoss  fervently,  "I  gits 
you." 

Two  nights  later  the  greater  disaster  befell. 
It  was  a  thick,  drizzly,  muggy  night,  when  the 
foreground  of  one's  perspective  was  blurred  by 
the  murk  and  when  there  just  naturally  was 
not  any  background  at  all.  Down  by  the  Rich- 
[123] 


SUNDRY      ACCOUNTS 


land  House  a  strange  white  man  wearing  a 
hand-colored  mustache  and  a  tiger-claw  watch 
charm  hailed  Red  Hoss.  This  person  desired 
to  be  carried  entirely  out  of  town,  to  the  south 
yards  of  the  P.  T.  &  A.  Railroad,  where  Powers 
Brothers'  Carnival  Company  was  detraining 
from  its  cars  with  intent  to  pitch  camp  in  the 
suburb  of  Mechanicsville  hard  by  and  furnish 
the  chief  attractions  for  a  three  days'  street 
fair  to  be  given  under  the  auspices  of  the  Me 
chanicsville  lodge  of  Knights  of  Damon. 

After  they  had  quit  the  paved  streets,  Red 
Hoss  drove  a  bumpy  course  diagonally  across 
many  switch  spurs,  and  obeying  instructions 
from  his  fare  brought  safely  up  alongside  a  red- 
painted  sleeping  car  which  formed  the  head 
end  of  the  show  train  where  it  stood  on  a  sid 
ing.  But  starting  back  he  decided  to  skirt 
alongside  the  track,  where  he  hoped  the  going 
might  be  easier.  As  he  backed  round  and 
started  off,  directly  in  front  of  him  he  made 
out  through  the  encompassing  mists  the  dim 
flare  of  a  gasoline  torch,  and  he  heard  a  voice 
uplifted  in  pleading: 

"Come  on,  Lena!  Come  on,  Baby  Doll! 
Come  on  out  of  that,  you  Queenie!" 

Seemingly  an  unseen  white  man  was  urging 
certain  of  his  lady  friends  to  quit  some  mys 
terious  inner  retreat  and  join  him  where  he 
stood;  all  of  which,  as  Red  Hoss  figured  it, 
was  none  of  his  affair.  Had  he  known  more 
he  might  have  moved  more  slowly;  indeed 


A      SHORT      NATURAL      HISTORY 

might  have  stopped  moving  altogether.  But — 
I  ask  you — how  was  Red  Hoss  to  know  that 
the  chief  bull  handler  for  Powers  Brothers  was 
engaged  in  superintending  the  unloading  of  his 
large  living  charges  from  their  traveling  accom 
modations  in  the  bull  car? 

There  were  three  of  these  bulls,  all  of  them 
being  of  the  gentler  sex.  Perhaps  it  might  be 
well  to  explain  here  that  the  word  "bull,"  in 
the  language  of  the  white  tops,  means  elephant. 
To  a  showman  all  cow  elephants  are  bulls  just 
as  in  a  mid-Victorian  day,  more  refined  than 
this  one,  all  authentic  bulls  were,  to  cultured 
people,  cows. 

Obeying  the  insistent  request  of  their  master, 
forth  now  and  down  a  wooden  runway  filed  the 
members  of  Powers  Brothers'  World  Famous 
Troupe  of  Ponderous  Pachydermic  Performers. 
First  came  Lena,  then  Baby  Doll  and  last  of 
all  the  mighty  Queenie;  and  in  this  order  they 
lumberingly  proceeded,  upon  huge  but  silent 
feet,  to  follow  him  alongside  the  cindered  right 
of  way,  feeling  their  way  through  the  fog. 

Now  it  is  a  fact  well  established  in  natural 
history — and  in  this  instance  was  to  prove  a 
lamentable  one — that  elephants,  unlike  light 
ning  bugs,  carry  no  tail  lamps.  Of  a  sudden 
Red  Hoss  was  aware  of  a  vast,  indefinite,  mouse- 
colored  bulk  looming  directly  in  the  path  be 
fore  him.  He  braked  hard  and  tried  to  swing 
out,  but  he  was  too  close  upon  the  obstacle  to 

avoid  a  collision. 

[125] 


SUNDRY      ACCOUNTS 


With  a  loud  metallic  smack  the  bow  of  the 
swerving  taxicab,  coming  up  from  the  rear, 
treacherously  smote  the  mastodonic  Queenie 
right  where  her  wrinkles  were  thickest.  Her 
knees  bent  forward,  and  involuntarily  she 
squatted.  She  squatted,  as  one  might  say,  on 
all  points  south.  Simultaneously  there  was  an 
agonized  squeal  from  Queenie  and  a  crunching 
sound  from  behind  and  somewhat  under  her, 
and  the  tragic  deed  was  done.  The  radiator  of 
Red  Hoss'  car  looked  something  like  a  con 
certina  which  had  seen  hard  usage  and  some 
thing  like  a  folded-in  crush  hat,  but  very  little, 
if  any,  like  a  radiator. 

At  seven  o'clock  next  morning,  when  Mr. 
Farrell  arrived  at  his  establishment,  his  stricken 
gaze  fastened  upon  a  new  car  of  his  which  had 
become  to  all  intents  and  purposes  practically 
two-thirds  of  a  car.  The  remnant  stood  at  the 
curbing,  where  his  service  car,  having  towed 
it  in,  had  left  it  as  though  the  night  foreman 
had  been  unwilling  to  give  so  complete  a  ruin 
storage  space  within  the  garage.  Alongside  the 
wreckage  was  Red  Hoss,  endeavoring  more  or 
less  unsuccessfully  to  make  himself  small  and 
inconspicuous.  Upon  him  menacingly  advanced 
his  employer. 

"The  second  time  in  forty-eight  hours  for 
you,  eh?"  said  Mr.  Farrell.  "Well,  boy,  you 
do  work  fast!  Come  on  now,  and  give  me  the 
cold  facts.  How  did  the  whole  front  end  of 

this  car  come  to  get  mashed  off?" 

[126] 


>         A      SHORT      NATURAL      HISTORY 

Tone  and  mien  alike  were  threatening.  Red 
Hoss  realized  there  was  no  time  for  extended 
preliminary  remarks.  From  him  the  truth  came 
trippingly  on  the  tongue. 

"Boss,  man,  I  ain't  aimin'  to  tell  you  no  lies 
dis  time.  I  comes  clean." 

"Come  clean  and  come  fast." 

"A  elephint  set  down  on  it." 

"What!" 

"I  sez,  suh,  a  elephint  set  down  on  it." 

In  moments  of  stress,  when  tempted  beyond 
his  powers  of  self-control,  Mr.  Farrell  was  ac 
customed  to  punctuate  physically,  as  it  were, 
the  spoken  word.  What  he  said — all  he  said — 
before  emotion  choked  him  was:  "Why — you 
— you —  What  he  did  was  this:  His  right 
arm  crooked  upward  like  a  question  mark;  it 
straightened  downward  like  an  exclamation 
point;  his  fist  made  a  period,  or,  as  the  term 
goes,  a  full  stop  on  the  point  of  Red  Hoss 
Shackleford's  jaw.  What  Red  Hoss  saw  re 
sembled  this: 

******* 

Only  they  were  all  printed  flashingly  in  bright 
primary  colors,  reds  and  greens  predominating. 

As  the  last  gay  asterisk  faded  from"  before 
his  blinking  eyes  Red  Hoss  found  himself  sit 
ting  down  on  ^hard  concrete  sidewalk.  Coin- 
cidentally  other  discoveries  made  themselves 
manifest  to  his  understanding.  One  was  that 
the  truth  which  often  is  stranger  than  fiction 
may  also  on  occasion  be  a  more  dangerous 
[127] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


commodity  to  handle.  Another  was  that  ab 
ruptly  he  had  severed  all  business  connections 
with  Mr.  Lee  Farrell's  industry.  His  resigna 
tion  had  been  accepted  on  the  spot,  and  the 
spot  was  the  bulge  of  his  left  jaw. 

Somewhat  dazed,  filled  with  an  inarticulate 
but  none  the  less  sincere  conviction  that  there 
was  neither  right  nor  justice  left  in  a  misshapen 
world,  Red  Hoss  got  up  and  went  away  from 
there.  He  deemed  it  the  part  of  prudence  to 
go  utterly  and  swiftly  away  from  there.  It 
seemed  probable  that  at  any  moment  Mr.  Far- 
rell  might  emerge  from  his  inner  office,  whither, 
as  might  be  noted  through  an  open  window,  he 
had  retired  to  pour  cold  water  on  his  bruised 
knuckles,  and  get  violent  again.  The  language 
he  was  using  so  indicated. 

Presently  Red  Hoss,  with  one  side  of  his  face 
slightly  swollen  and  a  curious  taste  in  his 
mouth,  might  have  been  seen  boarding  a  Lo 
cust  Street  car  southbound.  He  was  on  his 
way  to  Mechanicsville.  In  the  back  part  of 
his  brain  lurked  vaguely  a  project  to  seek  out 
the  man  who  owned  those  elephants  and  plead 
for  some  fashion  of  redress  for  painful  injuries 
innocently  sustained.  Perhaps  the  show  gen 
tleman  might  incline  a  charitable  ear  upon 
hearing  Red  Hoss'  story.  Just  how  the  sufferer 
would  go  about  the  formality  of  presenting 
himself  to  the  consideration  of  the  visiting  dig 
nitary  he  did  not  yet  know.  It  was  all  nebu- 
lous  and  cloudy;  a  contingency  to  be  shaped 
[128] 


A      SHORT      NATURAL      HISTORY 

by  circumstances  as  they  might  develop. 
Really  sympathy  was  the  balm  Red  Hoss 
craved  most. 

He  quit  the  car  when  the  car  quit  him — at 
the  end  of  the  line  where  the  iron  bridge  across 
Island  Creek  marked  the  boundary  between 
the  municipality  and  its  principal  suburb.  Even 
at  this  hour  Mechanicsville's  broadest  highway 
abounded  in  fascinating  sights  and  alluring 
zoological  aromas.  The  carnival  formally  would 
not  open  till  the  afternoon,  but  by  Powers 
Brothers'  crews  things  already  had  been  pre 
pared  against  the  coming  of  that  time.  In  all 
available  open  spaces,  such  as  vacant  lots  abut 
ting  upon  the  sidewalks  and  the  junctions  of 
cross  streets,  booths  and  tents  and  canvas- 
walled  arenas  had  been  set  up.  Boys  of  as 
sorted  sizes  and  colors  hung  in  expectant  clumps 
about  marquees  and  show  fronts.  Also  a  nu 
merous  assemblage  of  adults  of  the  resident 
leisure  class,  a  majority  of  these  being  mem 
bers  of  Red  Hoss'  own  race,  moved  back  and 
forth  through  the  line  of  fairings,  inspired  by 
the  prospect  of  seeing  something  interesting 
without  having  to  pay  for  it. 

Red  Hoss  forgot  temporarily  the  more-or- 
less  indefinite  purpose  which  had  brought  him 
hither.  He  joined  a  cluster  of  watchful  per 
sons  who  hopefully  had  collected  before  the 
scrolled  and  ornamented  wooden  entrance  of  a 
tarpaulin  structure  larger  than  any  of  the  rest. 
From  beneath  the  red-and-gold  portico  of  this 
[  129  ] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


edifice  there  issued  a  blocky  man  in  a  check 
ered  suit,  with  a  hard  hat  draped  precariously 
over  one  ear  and  with  a  magnificent  jewel 
gleaming  out  of  the  bosom  of  a  collarless  shirt. 
All  things  about  this  man  stamped  him  as  one 
having  authority  over  the  housed  mysteries 
roundabout.  Visibly  he  rayed  that  aura  of 
proprietorship  common  to  some  monarchs  and 
to  practically  all  owners  of  traveling  caravan 
saries.  Seeing  him,  Red  Hoss  promptly  de 
tached  himself  from  the  group  he  had  just 
joined,  and  advanced,  having  it  in  mind  to 
seek  speech  with  this  superior-appearing  per 
sonage.  The  white  man  beat  him  to  it. 

"Say,  boy,  that's  right,  keep  a-coming,"  he 
called.  His  experienced  eye  appraised  Red  Hoss' 
muscular  proportions.  "Do  you  want  a  job?" 

"Whut  kinder  job,  boss?" 

"Best  job  you  ever  had  in  your  life,"  de 
clared  the  white  man.  "You  get  fourteen  a 
week  and  cakes.  Get  me?  Fourteen  dollars 
just  as  regular  as  Saturday  night  comes,  and 
your  scoffing  free — all  the  chow  you  can  eat 
thrown  in.  Then  you  hear  the  band  play  ab 
solutely  free  of  charge,  and  you  see  the  big 
show  six  times  a  day  without  having  to  pay  for 
it,  and  you  travel  round  and  see  the  country. 
Don't  that  sound  good  to  you?  Oh,  yes,  there's 
one  thing  else!"  He  dangled  a  yet  more  allur 
ing  temptation.  "And  you  wear  a  red  coat 
with  brass  buttons  on  it  and  a  cap  with  a 
plume  in  it." 


A      SHORT      NATURAL      HISTORY 

"Sho'  does  sound  good,"  said  Red  Hoss, 
warming.  "Whut  else  I  got  to  do,  cunnel?" 

"Oh,  just  odd  jobs  round  this  pitch  here — 
this  animal  show." 

"Hole  on,  please,  boss!  I  don't  have  no 
truck  wid  elephints,  does  I?" 

"Nope.  The  elephants  are  down  the  line  in 
a  separate  outfit  of  their  own.  You  work  with 
this  show — clean  out  the  cages  and  little  things 
like  that.  Don't  get  worried,"  he  added  quickly, 
interpreting  aright  a  look  of  sudden  concern 
upon  Red  Hoss'  face.  "You  don't  have  to  go 
inside  the  cages  to  clean  'em  out.  You  stay 
outside  and  do  it  with  a  long-handled  tool.  I 
had  a  good  man  on  this  job,  but  he  quit  on  me 
unexpectedly  night  before  last." 

The  speaker  failed  to  explain  that  the  recent 
incumbent  had  quit  thus  abruptly  as  a  result 
of  having  a  forearm  clawed  by  a  lady  leopard 
named  Violet. 

"'Bout  how  long  is  dis  yere  job  liable  to 
last?"  inquired  Red  Hoss.  "You  see,  cunnel, 
Ise  'spectin'  to  have  some  right  important  pri 
vate  business  in  dis  town  'fore  so  very  long." 

"Then  this  is  the  very  job  you  want.  After 
we  leave  here  to-morrow  night  we  strike  down 
across  the  state  line  and  play  three  more  stands, 
and  then  we  wind  up  with  a  week  in  Memphis. 
We  close  up  the  season  there  and  go  into  win 
ter  quarters,  and  you  come  on  back  home. 
What's  your  name?" 

"My  full  entitled  name  is  Roscoe  Conklin* 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


Shackleford,  but  'count  of  my  havin'  a  kinder 
brightish  complexion  dey  mos'  gin'rally  calls 
me  Red  Hoss.  I  reckin  mebbe  dey's  Injun 
blood  flowin'  in  me." 

"All  right,  Red  Hoss,  let  it  flow.  You  just 
come  on  with  me  and  I'll  show  you  what  you'll 
have  to  do.  My  name  is  Powers — Captain 
Powers." 

Proudly  sensing  that  already  he  was  an  en 
vied  figure  in  the  eyes  of  the  group  behind  him, 
Red  Hoss  followed  the  commanding  Powers 
back  through  a  canvas-sided  marquee  into  a 
circular  two-poled  tent.  There  were  no  seats. 
The  middle  spaces  were  empty.  Against  the 
side  walls  were  ranged  four  cages.  One  housed 
a  pair  of  black  bears  of  a  rather  weather-beaten 
and  travel- worn  aspect.  Next  to  the  bears,  the 
lady  leopard,  Violet,  through  the  bars  contem 
plated  space,  meanwhile  wearing  that  air  of  in 
tense  boredom  peculiar  to  most  caged  animals. 
A  painted  inscription  above  the  front  of  the 
third  cage  identified  its  occupant  as  none  other 
than  The  Educated  Ostrich;  the  Bird  That 
Thinks. 

Red  Hoss'  conductor  indicated  these  posses 
sions  with  a  lordly  wave  of  his  arm,  then  led 
the  way  to  the  fourth  cage.  It  was  the  largest 
cage  of  all;  it  was  painted  a  bright  and  passion 
ate  red.  It  had  gilded  scrollings  on  it.  Upon 
the  ornamented  fagade  which  crossed  its  front 
from  side  to  side  a  lettered  legend  ran.  Red 
Hoss  spelled  out  the  pronouncement: 


A      SHORT     NATURAL      HISTORY 

Chieftain,  King  of  Feline  Acrobats!  The 
Largest  Black-maned  Nubian  Lion  in  Captiv 
ity  !  Danger ! 

The  face  of  the  cage  was  boarded  halfway 
up,  but  above  the  top  line  of  the  planked  cross 
panel  Red  Hoss  could  make  out  in  the  fore 
ground  of  the  dimmed  interior  a  great  tawny 
shape,  and  at  the  back,  in  one  corner,  an  or 
derly  clutter  of  objects  painted  a  uniform  cir 
cus  blue.  There  was  a  barrel  or  two,  an  enor 
mous  wooden  ball,  a  collapsible  fold-up  seesaw 
and  other  impedimenta  of  a  trained-animal  act. 
Red  Hoss  had  heard  that  the  lion  was  a  noble 
brute — in  short,  was  the  king  of  beasts.  He 
now  was  prepared  to  swear  it  had  a  noble 
smell.  Beneath  the  cage  a  white  man  in  over 
alls  slumbered  audibly  upon  a  tarpaulin  folded 
into  a  pallet. 

"There's  the  man  you  take  your  orders  from 
if  you  join  us,"  explained  Powers,  flirting  a 
thumb  toward  the  sleeper.  "Name  of  Riley, 
he  is.  But  you  draw  your  pay  from  me." 
With  his  arm  he  described  a  circle.  "And 
here's  the  stock  you  help  take  care  of.  The 
only  one  you  need  to  be  careful  about  is  that 
leopard  over  yonder.  She  gets  a  little  peevish 
once  in  a  while.  Well,  I  would  sort  of  keep  an 
eye  on  the  ostrich  here  alongside  you  too.  The 
old  bird's  liable  to  cut  loose  when  you  ain't 
looking  and  kick  the  taste  out  of  your  mouth. 
You  give  them  both  their  distances.  But  those 
bears  behind  you  is  just  the  same  as  a  pair  of 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


puppies,  and  old  Chieftain  here — well,  he  looks 
pretty  fierce  and  he  acts  sort  of  fierce  too  when 
he's  called  on  for  it,  but  it's  just  acting  with 
him;  he's  trained  to  it.  Off  watch,  he's  just 
as  gentle  as  an  overgrown  kitten.  Riley  han 
dles  him  and  works  him,  and  all  you've  got  to 
do  when  Riley  is  putting  him  through  his  stunts 
is  to  stand  outside  here  and  hand  him  things 
he  wants  in  through  the  bars.  Well,  is  it  a 
go?  Going  to  take  the  job?" 

"Boss,"  said  Red  Hoss,  "you  speaks  late — 
I  done  already  tooken  it." 

"Good!"  said  Powers.  "That's  the  way  I 
love  to  do  business — short  and  sweet.  You 
hang  round  for  an  hour  or  two  and  sort  of  get 
acquainted  with  things  until  Riley  has  his  nap 
out.  When  he  wakes  up,  if  I  ain't  back  by 
that  time,  you  tell  him  you're  the  new  helper, 
and  he'll  wise  you  up." 

"Yas  suh,"  said  Red  Hoss.  "But  say,  boss, 
'scuse  me,  but  did  I  understand  you  to  men 
tion  dat  eatin'  was  in  de  contract?" 

"Sure!    Hungry  already?" 

"Well,  suh,  you  see  I  mos'  gin'rally  starts 
de  day  off  wid  breakfust,  an'  to  tell  you  de 
truth  I  ain't  had  nary  grain  of  breakfust  yit!" 

"Got  the  breakfast  habit,  eh?  Well,  come 
on  with  me  to  the  cook  house  and  I'll  see  if 
there  ain't  something  left  over." 

Despite  the  nature  of  his  calling  as  a  tamer 
of  ferocious  denizens  of  the  tropic  jungle,  Mr. 
Riley,  upon  wakening,  proved  to  be  a  person 
[  134  ] 


A      SHORT      NATURAL      HISTORY 

of  a  fairly  amiable  disposition.  He  made  it 
snappy  but  not  unduly  burdensome  as  he  ini 
tiated  Red  Hoss  into  the  rudimentary  phases 
of  the  new  employment.  As  the  forenoon  wore 
on  the  conviction  became  fixed  in  Red  Hoss' 
mind  that  for  an  overlord  he  had  a  white  man 
who  would  be  apt  to  listen  to  reason  touching 
on  any  proposition  promising  personal  profits 
with  no  personal  risks. 

Sharp  upon  this  diagnosis  of  his  new  mas 
ter's  character,  a  magnificent  idea,  descending 
without  warning  like  a  bolt  from  the  blue, 
struck  Red  Hoss  on  top  of  his  head  and  bored 
in  through  his  skull  and  took  prompt  root  in 
his  entranced  and  dazzled  brain.  It  was  a  gor 
geous  conception;  one  which  promised  opulent 
returns  for  comparatively  minor  exertions.  To 
carry  it  out,  though,  required  cooperation,  and 
in  Riley  he  saw  with  a  divining  glance — or 
thought  he  saw — the  hope  of  that  cooperation. 

In  paving  the  way  for  confidential  relations 
he  put  to  Riley  certain  leading  questions  art 
fully  disguised,  and  at  the  beginning  seemingly 
artlessly  presented.  By  the  very  nature  of 
Riley's  answers  he  was  further  assured  of  the 
safety  of  the  ground  on  which  he  trod,  where 
upon  Red  Hoss  cautiously  broached  the  proj 
ect,  going  on  to  amplify  it  in  glowing  colors 
the  while  Riley  hearkened  attentively. 

It  was  a  sheer  pleasure  to  outline  a  proposi 
tion  to  a  white  gentleman  who  received  it  so 
agreeably.  Fifteen  minutes  after  the  first  ten- 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


tative  overtures  had  been  thrown  out  feeler- 
wise,  Red  Hoss  found  that  he  and  Riley  were 
in  complete  accord  on  all  salient  points.  In 
deed  they  already  were  as  partners  jointly  com 
mitted  to  a  joint  undertaking. 

After  the  third  and  last  afternoon  perform 
ance,  in  which  Red  Hoss,  wearing  a  proud  mien 
and  a  somewhat  spotty  uniform  coat,  had  ac 
quitted  himself  in  all  regards  creditably,  Riley 
gave  him  a  leave  of  absence  of  two  hours,  os 
tensibly  for  the  purpose  of  quitting  his  board 
ing  house  and  collecting  his  traveling  wardrobe. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  these  details  really  required 
but  a  few  minutes,  and  it  had  been  privily 
agreed  between  them  that  the  rest  of  the  time 
should  be  devoted  by  Red  Hoss  to  setting  in 
motion  the  actual  preliminaries  of  their  scheme. 

This  involved  a  personal  call  upon  Mr.  Moe 
Rosen,  who  conducted  a  hide,  pelt,  rag,  junk, 
empty-bottle  and  old-iron  emporium  on  lower 
Court  Street,  just  off  the  Market  Square.  Sep 
tember's  hurried  twilight  had  descended  upon 
the  town  when  the  scouting  conspirator  tapped 
for  admission  at  the  alley  entrance  to  the  back 
room  of  Mr.  Rosen's  establishment,  where  the 
owner  sat  amid  a  variegated  assortment  of 
choicer  specimens  culled  from  his  collected 
wares.  Mr.  Rosen  needed  no  sign  above  his 
door  to  inform  the  passing  public  of  the  nature 
of  his  business.  When  the  wind  was  right  you 
could  stand  two  blocks  away  and  know  it  with- 
out  being  told.  Here  at  Mr.  Rosen's  side  door 
[136] 


A      SHORT      NATURAL      HISTORY 

Red  Hoss  smacked  his  nostrils  appreciatively. 
Even  to  one  newly  come  from  a  wild-animal 
show,  and  even  when  smelled  through  a  brick 
wall,  Mr.  Rosen's  place  had  a  graphic  and  strik 
ing  atmosphere  which  was  all  its  own. 

As  one  well  acquainted  with  the  undercur 
rents  of  community  life,  Red  Hoss  shared,  with 
many  others,  the  knowledge  that  Mr.  Rosen, 
while  ostensibly  engaged  in  one  industry,  car 
ried  on  another  as  a  sort  of  clandestine  by 
product.  Now  this  side  line,  though  surrepti 
tiously  conducted  and  perilous  in  certain  of  its 
aspects,  was  believed  by  the  initiated  to  be 
really  more  lucrative  than  his  legitimatized  and 
avowed  calling.  Mr.  Rosen  was  by  way  of 
being — by  a  roundabout  way  of  being — what 
technically  is  known  as  a  bootlegger.  He  boot 
legged  upon  a  larger  scale  than  do  most  of  those 
pursuing  this  precarious  avocation. 

It  was  stated  in  an  earlier  paragraph  that 
national  prohibition  had  not  yet  come  to  pass. 
But  already  local  option  held  the  adjoining 
commonwealth  of  Tennessee  in  a  firm  and  arid 
grasp;  wherefore  Mr.  Rosen's  private  dealings 
largely  had  to  do  with  discreet  clients  thirstily 
residing  below  the  state  line.  It  was  common 
rumor  in  certain  quarters  that  lately  this  traffic 
had  suffered  a  most  disastrous  interruption. 
Tennessee  revenue  agents  suddenly  had  evinced 
an  unfriendly  curiosity  touching  on  vehicular 
movements  from  the  Kentucky  side. 

A  considerable  chunk  of  Mr.  Rosen's  profits 
[137] 


SUNDRY      ACCOUNTS 

for  the  current  year  had  been  irretrievably  swal 
lowed  up  when  a  squad  of  these  suspicious  ex 
cisemen  laid  their  detaining  hands  upon  a  siz 
able  order  of  case  stuff  which — disguised  and 
broadly  labeled  as  crated  household  goods — 
was  traveling  southward  by  nightfall  in  a  truck, 
heading  toward  a  destination  in  a  district  which 
that  truck  was  destined  never  to  reach. 

Bottle  by  bottle  the  aromatic  contents  of  the 
packages  had  been  poured  into  the  wayside 
ditch  to  be  sucked  up  by  an  unappreciative  if 
porous  soil.  The  truck  itself  had  been  confis 
cated.  Its  driver  barely  had  escaped,  to  re 
turn  homeward  afoot  across  country  bearing 
dire  tidings  to  his  employer,  who  was  reported, 
upon  hearing  the  lamentable  news,  literally  to 
have  scrambled  the  air  with  disconsolate  flap 
pings  of  his  hands,  meanwhile  uttering  shrill 
cries  of  grief. 

Moreover,  as  though  to  top  this  stroke  of  ill 
luck,  further  activities  in  the  direction  of  his 
most  profitable  market  practically  had  been 
brought  to  a  standstill  by  reason  of  enhanced 
vigilance  on  the  part  of  the  Tennessee  authori 
ties  along  the  main  highroads  running  north 
and  south.  Between  supply  and  demand,  or 
perhaps  one  should  say  between  purveyor  and 
consumer,  the  boundary  mark  dividing  the  sis 
ter  commonwealths  stretched  its  dead  line  like 
a  narrow  river  of  despair.  It  was  not  to  be 
wondered  at,  therefore,  that  the  sorely  pestered 
Mr.  Rosen  should  be  at  this  time  a  prey  to 
[138] 


A      SHORT      NATURAL      HISTORY 

care  so  carking  as  to  border  on  forthright  mel 
ancholia.  Never  a  particularly  cheerful  per 
son,  at  Red  Hoss'  soft  knock  upon  his  outer 
door  he  raised  a  countenance  completely  clothed 
in  moroseness  where  not  clothed  in  whiskers 
and  grunted  briefly — a  sound  which  might  or 
might  not  be  taken  as  an  invitation  to  enter. 
Nor  was  his  greeting,  following  upon  the  call 
er's  soft-footed  entrance,  calculated  to  promote 
cordial  intercourse. 

"What  you  want,  nigger?"  he  demanded, 
breaking  in  on  Red  Hoss'  politely  phrased  greet 
ing.  Then  without  waiting  for  a  reply,  "Well, 
whatever  it  is,  you  don't  get  it.  Get  out!" 

Nevertheless,  Red  Hoss  came  right  on  in. 
Carefully  he  closed  the  door  behind  him,  shut 
ting  himself  in  with  Mr.  Rosen  and  privacy 
and  a  symposium  of  strong,  rich  smells. 

"'Scuse  me,  Mist'  Rosen,"  he  said,  "fur 
bre'kin'  in  on  you  lak  dis,  but  I  got  a  little 
sumpin'  to  say  to  you  in  mos'  strictes'  confi 
dence.  Seems  lak  to  me  I  heard  tell  lately 
dat  you'd  had  a  little  trouble  wid  some  white 
folkses  down  de  line.  Co'se  dat  ain't  none  o' 
my  business.  I  jes'  mentioned  it  so's  you'd 
understan'  whut  it  is  I  wants  to  talk  wid  you 
about." 

He  drew  up  an  elbow  length  away  from  Mr. 
Rosen  and  sank  his  voice  to  an  intimate  half 
whisper. 

"Mist'  Rosen,  le's  you  an'  me  do  a  little 
s'posin'.  Le's  s'posen'  you  has  a  bar'l  of  vine- 
[139] 


SUNDRY      ACCOUNTS 


gar  or  molasses  or  sumpin'  which  you  wants 
delivered  to  a  frien'  in  Memphis,  Tennessee. 
Seems  lak  I  has  beared  somewhars  dat  you  al 
ready  is  got  a  frien'  or  two  in  Memphis,  Ten 
nessee?  All  right  den!  S'posin',  den,  dat  you 
wrote  to  your  frien'  dat  dis  yere  bar'l  would  be 
comin'  along  to  him  inside  of  a  week  or  ten 
days  f'um  now  wid  me  in  de  full  charge  of  it. 
S'posin',  den,  on  top  o'  dat  I  could  guarantee 
you  to  deliver  dat  bar'l  to  your  frien'  widout 
nobody  botherin'  dat  bar'l  on  de  way,  and  wid 
out  nobody  'spectin'  whut  wuz  in  dat  bar'l, 
an'  widout  nobody  axin'  no  hard  questions 
about  dat  bar'l.  S'posin'  all  dem  things,  ef 
you  please,  suh,  an'  den  I  axes  you  dis  ques 
tion:  How  much  would  dat  favor  be  wuth  to 
you  in  cash  money?" 

As  a  careful  business  man,  Mr.  Rosen  very 
properly  pressed  for  further  particulars  before 
in  any  way  committing  himself  in  the  matter 
of  the  amount  of  remuneration  to  be  paid  for 
the  accommodation  proposed.  At  this  evi 
dence  of  interest  on  the  other's  part  Red  Hoss 
grinned  in  happy  optimism. 

"Mist*  Rosen,  'twon't  hardly  be  no  trouble 
a-tall,"  he  stated.  "In  de  fust  place,  you  teks 
a  pot  o'  blue  paint  an'  you  paints  dat  bar'l  blue 
f'um  head  to  foot.  De  bluer  dat  bar'l  is  de 
more  safer  she'll  be.  An'  to  mek  sure  dat  de 
color  will  be  right  yere's  a  sample  fur  you  to 
go  by." 

With  that,  Red  Hoss  produced  from  a  hip 

[140] 


A      SHORT      NATURAL      HISTORY 

pocket  a  sliver  of  plank  painted  on  both  sides 
in  the  cerulean  hue  universally  favored  by  cir 
cus  folk  for  covering  seat  boards,  tent  poles  and 
such  paraphernalia  of  a  portable  caravansary 
as  is  subject  to  rough  treatment  and  frequent 
handling.  At  this  the  shock  of  surprise  was 
such  as  almost  to  lift  Mr.  Rosen  up  on  top  of 
the  cluttered  desk  which  separated  him  from 
his  visitor.  It  did  lift  him  halfway  out  of  his 
chair. 

"Nigger,"  he  declared  incredulously,  "you 
talk  foolishness!  A  mile  away  those  dam  Ten 
nessee  constables  would  be  able  to  see  a  plain 
barrel  which  ain't  got  no  paint  on  it  at  all,  and 
now  you  tell  me  I  should  paint  a  barrel  so  blue 
as  the  sky,  and  yet  it  should  get  through  from 
here  to  Memphis.  Are  you  crazy  in  the  head 
or  something,  or  do  you  maybe  think  I  am?" 

"Nummine  dat,"  went  on  Red  Hoss.  "You 
do  lak  I  tells  you,  an'  you  paints  de  bar'l  right 
away  so  de  paint '11  git  good  an'  dry  twixt  now 
an'  We'n'sday  night.  Come  We'n'sday  night, 
you  loads  dat  blue  bar'l  in  a  waggin  an'  covers 
it  up  an'  you  fetches  it  to  me  at  de  back  do'  of 
de  main  wild  animal  tent  of  dat  carnival  show 
which  is  now  gwine  on  up  yere  in  Mechanics- 
ville.  Don't  go  to  de  tent  whar  de  elephints  is. 
Go  to  de  tent  whar  de  educated  ostrich  is.  Dar 
you'll  fin'  me.  I  done  tuk  a  job  as  de  fust  chief 
'sistant  wild-animal  trainer,  an'  right  dar  I'll 
be  waitin'.  So  den  you  turns  de  bar'l  over  to 
me  an'  you  goes  on  back  home  an'  you  furgits 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


all  'bout  it.  Den  in  'bout  two  weeks  mo'  when 
I  gits  back  yere  I  brings  you  a  piece  o'  writin' 
f  um  de  gen'leman  in  Memphis  sayin'  dat  de 
bar'l  has  been  delivered  to  him  in  good  awder, 
an'  den  you  pays  me  de  rest  o'  de  money  dat's 
comin'  to  me."  He  had  a  canny  second  thought. 
"Mebbe,"  he  added,  "mebbe  it  would  be  bet 
ter  for  all  concern'  ef  you  wrote  to  yore  frien' 
in  Memphis  to  hand  me  over  de  rest  of  de 
money  when  I  delivers  de  bar'l.  Yassuh,  I 
reckins  dat  would  be  de  best." 

"The  rest  of  what  money?"  demanded  Mr. 
Rosen  sharply.  "I  ain't  said  nothing  about 
giving  no  money  to  nobody.  What  do  you 
mean— money  ?  " 

"I  mean  de  rest  of  de  money  which'll  be 
comin'  to  me  ez  my  share,"  explained  Red 
Hoss  patiently.  "De  white  man  dat's  goin'  to 
he'p  me  wid  dis  yere  job,  he  'sists  p'intedly  dat 
he  must  have  his  share  paid  down  cash  in  ad 
vance  'count  of  him  not  bein'  able  to  come 
back  yere  an'  collek  it  fur  hisse'f,  an'  likewise 
'count  of  him  not  keerin'  to  have  no  truck  wid 
de  gen'leman  at  de  other  end  of  de  line.  De 
way  he  put  it,  he  wants  all  of  his'n  'fore  he 
starts.  But  me,  Ise  willin'  to  wait  fur  de  bes' 
part  of  mine  anyhow.  So  dat's  how  it  stands, 
Mist'  Rosen,  an'  'scusin'  you  an'  me  an'  dis 
yere  white  man  an'  your  frien'  in  Memphis, 
dey  ain't  nary  pusson  gwine  know  nothin'  'bout 
it  a-tall,  'ceptin'  mebbe  hit's  de  lion.  An'  ez 
fur  dat,  w'y  de  lion  don't  count  noways,  'count 
[142] 


A      SHORT      NATURAL      HISTORY 

of  him  not  talkin'  no  language  'ceptin'  'tis  his 
own  language." 

"The  lion?"  echoed  Mr.  Rosen  blankly. 
"What  lion?  First  you  tell  me  blue  barrel 
and  then  you  tell  me  lion." 

"I  means  Chieftain — de  larges'  black-mangy 
Nubbin  lion  in  captivation,"  stated  Red  Hoss 
grandly,  quoting  from  memory  his  own  recol 
lection  of  an  inscription  he  but  lately  had  read 
for  the  first  time.  "Mist5  Rosen,  twixt  you  an' 
me,  I  reckins  dey  ain't  no  revenue  officer  in  de 
whole  state  of  Tennessee  which  is  gwine  go  pro- 
jeckin'  round  a  lion  cage  lookin'  fur  evidence." 

Disclosing  the  crux  of  his  plot,  his  voice  took 
on  a  jubilant  tone.  "Mist'  Rosen,  please,  suh, 
lissen  to  me  whut  Ise  revealin'  to  you.  Dat 
blue  bar'l  of  yourn  is  gwine  ride  f'um  yere 
plum'  to  Memphis,  Tennessee,  in  a  cage  wid  a 
lion  ez  big  ez  ary  two  lions  got  ary  right  to 
be!  An'  now  den,  Mist'  Rosen,  le's  you  an' 
me  talk  'bout  de  money  part  of  it;  'cause 
when  all  is  said  an'  done,  dat's  de  principalest 
part,  ain't  it?" 

The  town  of  Wyattsville  was,  as  the  saying 
goes,  all  agog.  Indeed,  as  the  editor  of  the 
Wyattsville  Tri- Weekly  Statesman  most  aptly 
phrased  it  in  the  introductory  sentence  of  a 
first-page,  full-column  article  in  his  latest  issue: 
"This  week  all  roads  run  to  Wyattsville." 

The  occasion  for  all  this  pleasurable  excite- 
ment  was  the  annual  fair  and  races  of  the 


SUNDRY      ACCOUNTS 

Forked  Deer  County  Jockey  Club,  and  super 
imposed  upon  that  the  street  carnival  conducted 
under  the  patronage  and  for  the  benefit  of 
Wyattsville  Herd  Number  1002  of  the  Benefi 
cent  and  Patriotic  Order  of  American  Bison. 
Each  day  would  be  a  gala  day  replete  with 
thrills  and  abounding  in  incident;  in  the  fore 
noons  grand  free  exhibitions  upon  the  streets, 
also  judgings  and  awards  of  prizes  in  various 
classes,  such  as  farm  products,  livestock,  poul 
try,  needlework,  pickles,  preserves  and  art  ob 
jects;  in  the  afternoons,  on  the  half-mile  track 
out  at  the  fair  grounds,  trotting,  pacing  and 
running  events;  in  the  evenings  the  carnival 
spirit  running  high  and  free,  with  opportuni 
ties  for  innocent  mirth,  merriment  and  enter 
tainment  afforded  upon  every  hand. 

This  was  Monday  night,  the  opening  night. 
The  initial  performance  of  the  three  on  the 
nightly  schedule  of  Powers  Brothers'  Trained 
Wild  Animal  Arena  approached  now  its  climax, 
the  hour  approximately  being  eight-forty-five. 
The  ballyhoo  upon  the  elevated  platform  with 
out  had  been  completed.  Hard  upon  this 
an  audience  of  townspeople  and  visitors  which 
taxed  the  standing  capacity  of  the  tented  en 
terprise  had  flowed  in,  after  first  complying 
with  the  necessary  financial  details  at  the  ticket 
booth.  The  Educated  Ostrich,  the  Bird  That 
Thinks,  had  performed  to  the  apparent  satis 
faction  of  all,  though  it  might  as  well  be  con- 
fessed  that  if  one  might  judge  by  the  intelli- 
[144] 


A      SHORT      NATURAL      HISTORY 

gent  creature's  expression,  the  things  it  thought 
while  going  through  its  paces  scarcely  would 
be  printable.  Violet,  the  lady  leopard,  had 
obliged  by  yowling  in  a  spirited  and  spitty 
manner  when  stirred  up  with  a  broom  handle. 
The  two  bears  had  given  a  complete  if  some 
what  lackadaisical  rendition  of  their  act.  And 
now  the  gentlemanly  orator  in  charge,  who, 
after  his  ballyhoos,  doubled  as  master  of  cere 
monies  and  announcer  of  events,  directed  the 
attention  of  the  patrons  to  the  largest  cage  of 
the  four. 

As  was  customary,  the  culminating  feature 
of  the  program  had  been  invested  with  several 
touches  of  skillful  stage  management,  the  pur 
pose  being  to  enhance  the  thrills  provided  and 
send  the  audience  forth  pleased  and  enthusi 
astic.  In  high  boots  and  a  tiger-skin  tunic,  Mr. 
Riley,  armed  with  an  iron  bar  held  in  one  hand 
and  a  revolver  loaded  with  blank  cartridges  in 
the  other,  stood  poised  and  prepared  to  leap 
into  the  den  at  the  ostensible  peril  of  his  life 
and  put  his  ferocious  charge  through  a  reper 
toire  of  startling  feats.  His  eye  was  set,  his 
face  determined;  his  lower  jaw  moved  slowly. 
This  steel-hearted  man  was  chewing  tobacco  to 
hide  any  concern  he  might  feel. 

Red  Hoss  Shackleford,  resplendent  in  his  of 
ficial  trappings,  ma,de  an  elaborate  ceremonial 
of  undoing  the  pins  and  bolts  which  upheld  the 
wooden  panels  across  the  front  elevation  of  the 
cage>  The  announcer  took  advantage  of  the 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 

pause  thus  artfully  contrived  to  urge  upon  the 
spectators  the  advisability  of  standing  well 
back  from  the  guard  ropes.  Every  precaution 
had  been  taken,  he  informed  them,  every  pos 
sible  safeguard  provided,  but  for  their  own 
sakes  it  were  well  to  be  on  the  prudent  side  in 
case  the  dauntless  trainer  should  lose  control 
over  his  dangerous  pupil.  This  warning  had  its 
usual  effect.  With  a  forward  rush  everyone  in 
stantly  pressed  as  closely  as  possible  into  the 
zone  of  supposed  menace. 

Here  a  curious  psychological  fact  obtrudes. 
In  each  gathering  of  this  character  is  at  least 
one  parent,  generally  a  father,  who  habitually 
conveys  his  offsprings  of  tender  years  to  places 
where  they  will  be  acutely  uncomfortable,  and 
by  preference  more  especially  to  spots  where 
there  is  a  strong  likelihood  that  they  may  meet 
with  a  sudden  and  violent  end.  Wyattsville 
numbered  at  least  one  such  citizen  within  her 
enrolled  midst.  He  was  here  now,  jammed  up 
against  the  creaking  rope,  holding  fast  with 
either  clutch  to  a  small  and  a  sorely  frightened 
child  who  wept. 

Red  Hoss  finished  with  the  iron  catches.  Be 
hind  the  shielding  falsework  he  heard  and  felt 
the  rustle  and  the  heave  of  a  great  sinewy  body 
threshing  about  in  a  confined  space.  He  turned 
his  head  toward  the  announcer,  awaiting  the 
ordained  signal. 

"Are  you  all  ready?"  clarioned  that  person. 
"Then  go!" 


A      SHORT      NATURAL      HISTORY 

With  a  clatter  and  crash  down  came  the 
wooden  frontage.  It  was  a  part  of  the  me 
chanics  intrusted  to  the  docile  and  intelligent 
Chieftain  that  so  soon  as  the  woodwork  had 
dropped  he,  counterfeiting  an  unappeasable 
bloodthirstiness,  should  fling  himself  headlong 
against  the  straining  bars,  uttering  hair-raising 
roars.  This  also  was  the  cue  for  Riley  to  wrig 
gle  nimbly  through  a  door  set  in  the  end  of  the 
cage  and  slam  the  door  behind  him;  then  to 
outface  the  great  beast  and  by  threats,  with 
bar  and  pistol  both  extended,  to  force  him 
backward  step  by  step,  still  snarling  but  seem 
ingly  daunted,  round  and  round  the  cage.  Fi 
nally,  when  through  the  demonstrated  power 
of  the  human  eye  Chieftain  had  been  suffi 
ciently  cowed,  Riley  would  begin  the  stirring 
entertainment  for  which  all  this  had  been  a 
spectacular  overture.  Such  was  the  prelimi 
nary  formula,  but  for  once  in  his  hitherto 
blameless  life  Chieftain  failed  to  sustain  his 
role. 

He  did  not  dash  at  his  prison  bars  as  though 
to  rend  them  from  their  sockets;  he  did  not 
growl  in  an  amazingly  deep  bass,  as  per  incul 
cated  schooling;  he  did  not  bare  the  yellow 
fang  nor  yet  unsheathe  the  cruel  claw.  With 
apparent  difficulty,  rising  on  his  all  fours  from 
where  he  was  crouched  in  the  rear  left-hand 
corner  of  his  den,  Chieftain  advanced  down 
stage  with  what  might  properly  be  called  a 
rolling  gait.  Against  the  iron  uprights  he 
[147] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


lurched,  literally;  then,  as  though  grateful  for 
their  support,  remained  fixed  there  at  a  slanted 
angle  for  a  brief  space. 

A  faunal  naturalist,  versed  in  the  ways  of 
lions,  would  promptly  have  taken  cognizance 
of  the  fact  that  Chieftain,  upon  his  face,  wore 
an  expression  unnatural  for  lions  to  wear.  It 
was  an  expression  which  might  be  classified  as 
dreamily  good-natured.  His  eyes  drooped  heav 
ily,  his  lips  were  wreathed  in  a  jovial  feline 
smile.  Transfixed  as  he  was  by  a  shock  of  as 
tonishment  and  chagrin,  Riley  under  his  breath 
snapped  a  word  of  command. 

In  subconscious  obedience  to  his  master's 
voice,  Chieftain  slowly  straightened  himself, 
came  to  an  about  face,  and  with  his  massive 
head  canted  far  to  one  side  and  all  adroop  as 
though  its  weight  had  become  to  him  suddenly 
burdensome,  and  his  legs  spraddled  widely 
apart  to  hold  him  upright,  he  benignantly  con 
templated  the  sea  of  expectant  and  eager  faces 
that  stretched  before  him.  Slowly  he  lifted  a 
broad  forefoot  and  with  its  padded  undersur- 
face  made  a  fumbling  gesture  which  might  have 
been  interpreted  as  an  attempt  on  his  part  to 
wipe  his  nose. 

The  effort  proved  too  much  for  him.  Lack 
ing  one  important  prop,  he  lost  his  balance, 
toppled  over  and  fell  heavily  upon  his  side. 
The  fall  jolted  his  mouth  widely  ajar,  and  from 
the  depths  of  his  great  throat  was  emitted  an 
immense  but  unmistakable  hiccup — a  hiccup 
[148] 


A      SHORT      NATURAL      HISTORY 

deep,  sincere  and  sustained,  having  a  high  muz 
zle  velocity  and  humidly  freighted  with  an 
aroma  as  of  a  hundred  hot  mince  pies. 

From  the  spellbound  crowd  rose  a  concerted 
gasp  of  surprise.  Chieftain  heeded  it  not. 
With  the  indubitable  air  of  just  recalling  a 
pleasant  but  novel  experience,  and  filled  with 
a  newborn  desire  to  renew  the  sensation,  he 
groggily  regained  his  feet  and  reeled  back  to 
the  corner  from  whence  he  had  come.  Here^ 
with  the  other  properties  of  his  act,  a  slickly 
painted  blue  barrel  stood  upended.  Applying 
his  nose  to  a  spot  at  the  base  of  it,  he  lapped 
greedily  at  a  darkish  aromatic  liquid  which,  as 
the  entranced  watchers  now  were  aware,  oozed 
forth  in  a  stream  upon  the  cage  floor  through 
a  cranny  treacherously  opened  between  two 
sprung  staves.  And  all  the  while  he  tongued 
up  the  escaping  runlet  of  fluid  he  purred  and 
rumbled  joyously  and  his  tawny  sides  heaved 
and  little  tremors  of  pure  ecstasy  ran  length 
wise  through  him  to  expire  diminishingly  in 
lesser  wriggles  at  the  tufted  tip  of  his  gently 
flapping  tail. 

Then  all  at  once  understanding  descended 
upon  the  audience,  and  from  them  together 
rose  a  tremendous  whoop.  A  joyous  whoop  it 
was,  yet  tinged  with  a  feather  edging  of  jealous 
regret  on  the  part  of  certain  adult  whoopers 
there.  They  had  paid  their  quarters,  these 
worthy  folk,  to  see  a  lion  perform  certain  tricks 
and  antics;  and  lo,  they  had  been  vouchsafed 
[  149 ]  


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


the  infinitely  more  unique  spectacle  of  a  lion 
with  a  jag  on!  It  was  a  boon  such  as  comes 
but  once  in  many  lifetimes,  this  opportunity  to 
behold  majestic  Leo,  converted  into  a  con 
firmed  inebriate  by  his  first  indulgence  in 
strong  and  forbidden  waters,  returning  to  his 
tippling. 

To  some  perhaps  in  this  land  of  ours  the 
scene  would  have  served  to  point  a  moral  and 
provide  a  text — a  lamentable  picture  of  the 
evils  of  intemperance  as  exemplified  in  its  ef 
fects  upon  a  mere  unreasoning  dumb  brute. 
But  in  this  assemblage  were  few  or  none  hold 
ing  the  higher  view.  Unthoughtedly  they  yelled 
their  appreciation,  yelling  all  the  louder  when 
Chieftain,  having  copiously  refreshed  himself, 
upreared  upon  his  hind  legs,  with  both  his  fore- 
paws  winnowing  the  perfumed  air,  and  after 
executing  several  steps  of  a  patently  impromptu 
dance  movement,  tumbled  with  a  happy,  in 
toxicated  gurgle  flat  upon  his  back  and  lapsed 
into  a  coma  of  total  insensibility. 

But  there  was  one  among  them  who  did  not 
cheer.  This  one  was  a  square- jawed  person 
who,  shoving  and  scrooging,  cleft  a  passage 
through  the  applauding  multitude,  and  slipped 
deftly  under  the  ropes  and  laid  a  detaining 
grasp  upon  the  peltry-clad  shoulder  of  the  as 
tonished  Riley,  With  his  free  hand  he  flipped 
back  the  lapel  of  his  coat  to  display  a  badge  of 
authority  pinned  on  the  breast  of  his  waist 
coat. 

__ 


A      SHORT      NATURAL      HISTORY 

"What's  the  main  idea?"  His  tone  was 
rough.  "Who's  the  chief  booze  smuggler  of 
this  outfit?  How'd  that  barrel  yonder  come  to 
be  traveling  across  country  with  a  soused 
lion?" 

"You  can  search  me!"  lied  Riley  glibly. 
"So  help  me,  Mike,  all  I  know  is  that  that 
barrel  was  slipped  over  on  me  by  a  big  nigger 
that  joined  out  with  us  up  here  in  Kentucky  a 
week  ago!  I  told  him  to  get  me  a  barrel,  mean 
ing  to  teach  the  lion  a  new  trick,  and  he  stuck 
that  one  in  there.  But  I  hadn't  never  got  round 
to  using  it  yet,  and  I  didn't  know  it  was  loaded 
— I'll  swear  to  that!" 

Cast  in  another  environment,  Mr.  Riley 
might  have  made  a  good  actor.  Even  here, 
in  an  embarrassing  situation  calling  for  lines 
spoken  ad  lib.  and  without  prior  rehearsals,  he 
had  what  the  critics  term  sincerity.  His  fine 
dissembling  deceived  the  revenue  man. 

"Well,  that  being  the  case,  where  is  this  here 
nigger,  then?"  demanded  the  officer. 

Riley  looked  about  him. 

"I  don't  see  him,"  he  said.  "He  was  right 
alongside  just  a  moment  ago  too.  I  guess  he's 
gone." 

This,  in  a  sense,  was  the  truth,  and  in  still 
another  sense  an  exaggeration.  Red  Hoss  was 
not  exactly  gone,  but  he  certainly  was  going. 
A  man  on  horseback  might  have  overtaken 
him,  but  with  the  handicap  of  Red  Hoss' 
flying  start  against  the  pursuing  forces  no 
[151] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


number  of  men  afoot  possibly  could  hope  to 
do  so. 

At  the  end  of  the  second  mile,  and  still  going 
strong,  the  fugitive  bethought  him  to  part  with 
his  red  coat.  He  already  had  run  out  from 
under  his  uniform  cap,  but  a  red  coat  with  a 
double  row  of  brass  buttons  and  brass-topped 
epaulettes  on  it  flashing  next  morning  across  a 
bland  autumnal  landscape  would  be  calculated 
to  attract  undesired  attention.  So  without 
slackening  speed  he  took  it  off  and  cast  it 
behind  him  into  the  darkness.  Figuratively 
speaking,  he  breathed  easier  when  he  crossed 
the  state  line  at  or  about  five  A.M.  As  a  mat 
ter  of  fact,  though,  he  was  breathing  harder. 
Some  hours  elapsed  before  he  caught  up  with 
his  panting. 

Traveling  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  he  reached 
home  too  late  for  the  wedding.  Still,  consider 
ing  everything,  he  hardly  would  have  cared  to 
attend  anyhow.  Either  he  would  have  felt  em 
barrassed  to  be  present  or  else  the  couple  would, 
or  perhaps  all  three.  On  such  occasions  noth 
ing  is  more  superfluous  than  an  extra  bride 
groom.  The  wedding  in  question  was  the  one 
uniting  Melissa  Grider  and  Homer  Holmes. 
It  was  generally  unexpected — in  fact,  sudden. 

The  marriage  took  place  on  a  Wednesday  at 
high  noon  in  the  office  of  Justice  of  the  Peace 
Dycus.  Red  Hoss  arrived  the  same  afternoon, 
shortly  after  the  departure  of  the  happy  pair 
for  Cairo,  Illinois,  on  a  honeymoon  tour.  All 
[152] 


A      SHORT      NATURAL      HISTORY 

along,  Melissa  had  had  her  heart  set  on  going 
to  St.  Louis;  but  after  the  license  had  been 
paid  for  and  the  magistrate  had  been  remuner 
ated  there  remained  but  thirty-four  dollars  of 
the  fund  she  had  been  safeguarding,  dollar  by 
dollar,  as  her  other,  or  regular,  fiance  earned 
it.  So  she  and  Homer  compromised  on  Cairo, 
and  by  their  forethought  in  taking  advantage 
of  a  popular  excursion  rate  they  had,  on  their 
return,  enough  cash  left  over  to  buy  a  hang 
ing  lamp  with  which  to  start  up  housekeeping. 

Late  that  evening,  while  Red  Hoss  still  wres 
tled  mentally  with  the  confusing  problem  of 
being  engaged  to  a  girl  who  just  had  been  mar 
ried  to  another,  a  disquieting  thought  came 
abruptly  to  him,  jolting  him  like  a  blow.  Look 
ing  back  on  events,  he  was  reminded  that  the 
sequence  of  painful  misadventures  which  had 
befallen  him  recently  dated,  all  and  sundry, 
from  that  time  when  he  was  coming  back  down 
the  Blandsville  Road  after  delivering  Mr.  Dick 
Bell's  new  cow  and  acquired  a  fresh  hind  foot 
of  a  graveyard  rabbit.  He  had  been  religiously 
toting  that  presumably  infallible  charm  against 
disaster  ever  since — and  yet  just  see  what  had 
happened  to  him!  Surely  here  was  a  situation 
calling  for  interpretive  treatment  by  one  hav 
ing  the  higher  authority.  In  the  person  of  the 
venerable  Daddy  Hannah — root,  herb  and  con 
jure  doctor — he  found  such  a  one. 

Before  going  into  consultation  the  patriarch 
forethoughtedly  collected  a  fee  of  seventy-five 
[153] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


cents  from  Red  Hoss.  At  the  outset  he  de 
manded  two  dollars,  but  accepted  the  six  bits, 
because  that  happened  to  be  all  the  money  the 
client  had.  This  formality  concluded,  he  re 
quired  it  of  Red  Hoss  that  he  recount  in  their 
proper  chronological  order  those  various  strokes 
of  ill  fortune  which  lately  had  plagued  him; 
after  which  Daddy  Hannah  asked  to  see  the 
talisman  which  coincidentally  had  been  in  the 
victim's  ownership  from  beginning  to  culmina 
tion  of  the  enumerated  catastrophes.  He  took 
it  in  his  wrinkled  hand  and  studied  it,  sides, 
top  and  bottom,  the  while  Red  Hoss  detailed 
the  exact  circumstances  attending  the  death 
of  the  bunny.  Then  slowly  the  ancient  deliv 
ered  his  findings. 

"In  de  fust  an'  fo'mos'  place,"  stated  Daddy 
Hannah,  "dis  yere  warn't  no  reg'lar  graveyard 
rabbit  to  start  off  wid.  See  dis  liT  teeny  black 
spot  on  de  und'neath  part?  Well,  dat's  a  sho' 
sign  of  a  witch  rabbit.  A  witch  rabbit  he  hang 
round  a  buryin'  ground,  but  he  don't  go  inside 
of  one — naw,  suh,  not  never  nur  nary.  He 
ain't  dare  to.  He  stay  outside  an'  frolic  wid 
de  ha'nts  w'en  dey  comes  fo'th,  but  da's  all. 
De  onliest  thing  which  dey  is  to  do  when  you 
kills  a  witch  rabbit  is  to  cut  off  de  haid  f'um 
de  body  an'  bury  de  haid  on  de  north  side  of  a 
log,  an'  den  bury  de  body  on  de  south  side 
so's  dey  can't  jine  together  ag'in  an'  resume 
witchin'.  So  you  havin'  failed  to  do  so,  'tain't 
no  wonder  you  been  havin'  sech  a  powerful 


A      SHORT      NATURAL      HISTORY 

sorry  time."  He  started  to  return  the  foot  to 
its  owner,  but  snatched  it  back. 

"Hole  on  yere  a  minute,  boy!  Lemme  tek' 
nuther  look  at  dat  thing."  He  took  it,  then 
burst  forth  with  a  volley  of  derisive  chuckling. 
"Huh,  huh,  well  ef  dat  ain't  de  beatenes'  part 
of  it  all!"  wheezed  Daddy  Hannah.  "Red 
Hoss,  you  sho'  muster  been  in  one  big  hurry  to 
git  away  f 'um  dat  spot  whar  you  kilt  your  rab 
bit  and  ketched  your  charm.  Looky  yere  at 
dis  yere  shank  j'int!  Don't  you  see  nothin' 
curious  about  de  side  of  de  leg  whar  de  hock 
sticks  out?  Well  den,  cullid  boy,  ef  you  don't, 
all  I  got  to  say  is  you  mus'  be  total  blind  ez 
well  ez  monst'ous  ignunt.  Dis  ain't  no  lef 
hind  foot  of  no  rabbit." 

"Whutisitden?" 

"It's  de  right  hind  foot,  dat's  whut  'tis!" 
He  tossed  it  away  contemptuously. 

After  a  long  minute  Red  Hoss,  standing  at 
Daddy  Hannah's  doorstep  with  his  hands  ram 
med  deep  in  pockets,  which  were  both  empty, 
spoke  in  tones  of  profound  bitterness.  He  ad 
dressed  his  remarks  to  space,  but  Daddy  Han 
nah  couldn't  help  overhearing. 

"Fust  off,  I  gits  fooled  by  de  right  laig  of  de 
wrong  rabbit.  Den  a  man-eatin'  mule  come 
a-browsin'  on  me  an'  gnaw  a  suit  of  close  right 
offen  my  back.  Den  I  runs  into  a  elephint  in 
a  fog  an'  busts  one  of  Mist'  Lee  Farrell's  taxis- 
cabs  fur  him  an'  he  busts  my  jaw  fur  me.  Den 
I  gits  tuk  advantage  of  by  a  fool  lion  dat  can't 
[155] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


chamber  his  licker  lak  a  genTman,  in  conse 
quence  of  which  I  loses  me  a  fancy  job  an'  a 
chunk  of  money.  Den  Melissa,  she  up  an* — 
well,  suh,  I  merely  wishes  to  say  dat  f 'um  now 
on,  so  fur  ez  I  is  concerned,  natchel  history  is 
a  utter  failure." 


[156] 


CHAPTER  IV 

IT    COULD    HAPPEN    AGAIN 
TO-MORROW 


SORRY,  ma'am,"  said  the  Pullman  con 
ductor,  "but  there's  not  a  bit  of  space 
left  in  the  chair  car,  nor  the  sleeper 
neither." 

"I'm  sorry  too,"  said  the  young  woman  in 
the  tan-colored  tailor-mades.  She  was  smartly 
hatted  and  smartly  spatted;  smart  all  over 
from  toque-tip  to  toe-tip.  "I  didn't  know  until 
almost  the  last  minute  that  I'd  have  to  catch 
this  train,  and  trusted  to  chance  for  a  seat." 

"Yes'm,  I  see,"  commiserated  the  man  in 
blue.  "But  you  know  what  the  rush  is  this 
time  of  year,  and  right  now  on  top  of  all  that 
so  many  of  the  soldiers  getting  home  from  the 
other  side  and  their  folks  coming  East  to  meet 
'em  and  everything.  I  guess  though,  miss,  you 
won't  have  much  trouble  getting  accommo 
dated  in  one  of  the  day  coaches." 

"I'll  try  it,"  she  said,  "and  thank  you  all 
the  same." 

~ [157] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


She  picked  up  her  hand  bag. 

"Wait  a  minute,"  he  suggested.  "I'll  have 
my  porter  carry  your  valise  on  up  to  the  other 
cars." 

Men  of  all  stations  in  life  were  rather  given 
to  offering  help  to  Miss  Mildred  Smith,  the 
distinguished  interior  decorator  and — on  the 
side — amateur  investigator  for  Uncle  Sam  with 
a  wartime  record  for  services  rendered  which 
many  a  professional  might  have  envied.  Per 
haps  they  were  the  more  ready  to  offer  it  since 
the  young  woman  seemed  so  rarely  to  need  it. 

This  man's  reward  was  a  brisk  little  nod. 

"Please  don't  bother,"  she  said.  "This  bag 
isn't  at  all  heavy,  and  I'm  used  to  traveling 
alone  and  looking  out  for  myself."  She  footed 
it  briskly  along  the  platform  of  the  Dobb's 
Ferry  station.  At  the  door  of  the  third  coach 
back  from  the  baggage  car  a  flagman  stopped 
her. 

"All  full  up  in  here,  lady,"  he  told  her,  "but 
I  think  maybe  you  might  find  some  place  to  sit 
in  the  next  car  beyond.  If  you'll  just  leave 
your  grip  here  I'll  bring  it  along  to  you  after 
we  pull  out." 

As  she  reached  the  door  of  the  coach  ahead 
the  train  began  to  move.  This  coach  was 
comfortably  filled — and  more  than  comfortably 
filled.  Into  the  aisles  projected  elbows  and  feet 
and  at  either  side  doubled  rows  of  backs  of 
heads  showed  above  the  red  plush  seats.  She 
shrugged  her  shoulders;  it  meant  standing  for 
[158] 


IT      COULD      HAPPEN      AGAIN 

a  while  at  least;  probably  someone  would  be 
getting  off  soon — this  train  was  a  local,  mak 
ing  frequent  stops.  It  was  not  the  train  she 
would  have  chosen  had  the  choosing  been  left 
altogether  to  her,  but  Mullinix  of  the  Secret 
Service,  her  unofficial  chief,  had  called  her  away 
from  a  furnishing  and  finishing  contract  at  a 
millionaire's  mansion  in  the  country  back  of 
Dobb's  Ferry  to  run  up  state  to  Troy,  where 
there  had  arisen  a  situation  which  in  the  opinion 
of  the  espionage  squad  a  woman  was  best  fit 
ted  to  handle,  provided  only  that  woman  be 
Miss  Mildred  Smith.  And  so  on  an  hour's 
notice  she  had  dropped  her  own  work  and 
started. 

Now,  though,  near  the  more  distant  end  of 
the  car  she  saw  a  break  in  one  line  of  heads. 
Perhaps  the  gap  might  mean  there  would  be 
room  for  her.  She  made  her  way  toward  the 
spot,  her  trim  small  figure  swaying  to  the  mo 
tion  as  the  locomotive  picked  up  speed.  Draw 
ing  nearer,  she  saw  the  back  of  one  seat  had 
been  turned  so  that  its  occupants  faced  rear 
ward  toward  her.  In  this  seat,  the  one  farther 
from  her  as  she  went  up  the  aisle,  were  a  man 
and  a  woman;  in  the  nearer  seat,  facing  this 
pair  and  sitting  next  the  window,  was  a  sec 
ond  woman — a  girl  rather — all  three  of  them, 
she  deduced  from  the  seating  arrangement, 
being  members  of  the  same  party.  A  suitcase 
rested  upon  the  cushions  alongside  the  younger 

woman. 

[159] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the  lone  passen 
ger,  halting  here,  "but  is  this  place  taken?" 

The  man's  face  twisted  as  though  in  annoy 
ance.  He  made  an  undecided  gesture  which 
might  be  interpreted  either  as  an  affirmative  or 
the  other  thing.  "I'm  sorry  if  I  am  disturb 
ing  you,"  added  Miss  Smith,  "but  the  car  is 
crowded — every  inch  of  it  except  this  seems  to 
be  occupied." 

"Oh,  I  guess  it's  all  right,"  he  said,  though 
in  his  begrudged  consent  was  a  sort  of  indirect 
intimation  that  it  was  not  altogether  all  right. 
He  half  rose  and  swung  the  suitcase  up  into 
the  luggage  rack  overhead,  then  tucked  in  his 
knees  so  she  might  slip  into  the  place  opposite 
him  next  the  aisle. 

"Excuse  me,"  he  said  a  moment  later,  "but 
I  could  change  seats  with  you  if  you  don't 
mind." 

Her  eyebrows  went  up  a  trifle. 

In  her  experiences  it  had  not  often  happened 
that  seemingly  without  reason  a  male  fellow 
traveler  had  suggested  that  she  give  him  a  place 
commonly  regarded  as  preferable  to  his  own. 

"I  do  mind,  rather,"  she  answered.  "Riding 
backward  makes  me  carsick  sometimes.  Still 
I  will  change  with  you  if  you  insist  on  it.  I'm 
the  intruder,  you  know." 

"No,  no,  never  mind!"  he  hastened  to  say. 
"I  guess  it  don't  make  any  difference.  And 
there's  no  intrusion,  miss — honest  now,  there 

ain't." 

[160] 


IT      COULD      HAPPEN      AGAIN 

Miss  Smith  opened  the  book  she  had  brought 
along  and  began  to  read.  She  felt  that  obliquely 
her  enforced  companions  were  studying  her — 
at  least  two  of  them  were.  The  one  with  whom 
she  shared  a  seat  had  not  looked  her  way;  ex 
cept  to  draw  in  her  body  a  trifle  as  Miss  Smith 
sat  down  she  had  made  no  movement  of  any 
sort.  Certainly  she  had  manifested  no  inter 
est  in  the  new  arrival.  In  moments  when  her 
glance  did  not  cross  theirs,  Miss  Smith,  turn 
ing  the  pages  of  her  book,  considered  the  two 
who  faced  her,  subconsciously  trying — as  was 
her  way — to  appraise  them  for  what  outwardly 
they  presumably  were.  Offhand  she  decided 
the  man  might  be  the  superintendent  of  an  es 
tate;  or  then  again  he  might  be  somebody's 
head  gardener.  He  was  heavily  built  and  heav 
ily  mustached  with  a  reddish  cast  to  his  skin 
and  fat  broad  hands.  The  woman  alongside 
him  had  the  look  about  her  of  being  a  high- 
class  domestic  employee,  possibly  a  housekeeper 
or  perhaps  a  seamstress.  Miss  Smith  decided 
that  if  not  exactly  a  servant  she  was  accus 
tomed  to  dealing  with  servants  and  in  her  own 
sphere  undoubtedly  would  figure  as  a  compe 
tent  and  authoritative  person. 

Of  her  own  seat  mate  she  could  make  out 
little  except  that  she  was  young — young  enough 
to  be  the  daughter  of  the  woman  across  from 
her,  and  yet  plainly  enough  not  the  woman's 
daughter.  Indeed  if  first  impressions  counted 
for  anything  she  was  of  a  different  type  and  a 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


different  fiber  from  the  pair  who  rode  in  her 
company.  One  somehow  felt  that  she  was  with 
them  but  not  of  them;  that  she  formed  the 
alien  apex  of  a  triangle  otherwise  harmonious 
in  its  social  composition.  She  was  muffled  cheek 
to  knees  in  a  loose  cape  of  blue  military  cloth 
which  quite  hid  the  outlines  of  her  figure,  yet 
nevertheless  revealed  that  she  was  slimly  formed 
and  of  fair  height.  The  flaring  collar  of  the 
garment  was  upturned,  shielding  her  face  al 
most  to  the  line  of  her  brows.  But  out  of  the 
tail  of  her  eye  Miss  Smith  caught  a  suggestion 
of  a  youthful  regular  profile  and  admiringly  ob 
served  the  texture  of  a  mass  of  thick,  fine, 
auburn  hair.  Miss  Smith  was  partial  to  auburn 
hair;  she  wondered  if  this  girl  had  a  coloring 
to  match  the  rich  reddish  tones  that  glinted  in 
the  smooth  coils  about  her  head. 

Presently  the  man  fumbled  in  a  breast  pocket 
of  his  waistcoat  and  found  a  long  malignant- 
looking  cigar.  He  bit  the  end  of  it  and  inserted 
the  bitten  end  in  his  mouth,  rolling  it  back  and 
forth  between  his  lips.  Before  long  this  poor 
substitute  of  the  confirmed  nicotinist  for  a 
smoke  failed  to  satisfy  his  cravings.  He  whis 
pered  a  word  to  his  middle-aged  companion, 
who  nodded,  and  then  with  a  mutter  of  apol 
ogy  to  Miss  Smith  for  troubling  her  he  scrouged 
out  into  the  aisle  and  disappeared  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  smoker. 

Left  alone,  the  woman  very  soon  began  to 
yawn.  It  was  to  be  judged  that  the  stuffy  air 
[162] 


IT      COULD      HAPPEN      AGAIN 

of  the  car  made  her  dozy.  She  kept  her  eyes 
open  with  an  effort,  her  head  lolling  in  spite  of 
her  drowsy  efforts  to  hold  it  straight,  yet  all 
the  while  bearing  herself  after  the  fashion  of 
one  determined  not  to  fall  asleep. 

A  voice  spoke  in  Miss  Smith's  ear — a  low 
and  well-bred  and  musical  voice. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  it  said  hesitatingly^ 
then  stopped. 

Miss  Smith  turned  her  head  toward  the 
speaker  and  now  for  the  first  time  had  a  fair 
chance  to  look  into  the  face  of  the  voice's 
owner.  She  looked  and  saw  the  oval  of  a  most 
comely  face,  white  and  drawn  as  though  by  ex 
haustion  or  by  deep  sorrow,  or  perhaps  by  both. 
For  all  their  pallor  the  cheeks  were  full  and 
smooth;  the  brow  was  broad  and  low;  the 
mouth  firm  and  sweet.  From  between  the  tall 
collars  of  the  cape  the  throat,  partly  revealed, 
rose  as  a  smooth  fair  column.  What  made  the 
girl  almost  beautiful  were  her  eyes — eyes  big 
and  brown  with  a  fire  in  them  to  suggest  the 
fine  high  mettle  of  a  resolute  character,  but  out 
of  them  there  looked — or  else  the  other  was 
woefully  wrong — a  great  grief,  a  great  distress 
bravely  borne.  To  herself — all  in  that  instant 
of  looking — she  said  mentally  that  these  were 
the  saddest,  most  courageous  eyes  she  ever  had 
seen  set  in  a  face  so  young  and  seemingly  be 
speaking  so  healthful  a  body.  For  a  moment 
Miss  Smith  was  so  held  by  what  she  saw  that 

she  forgot  to  speak. 

[163] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


"I  beg  your  pardon,"  repeated  the  girl.  "I 
wonder  if  you  would  be  good  enough  to  bring 
me  a  drink  of  water — if  it  isn't  too  much  trouble. 
I'm  so  thirsty.  I  can't  very  well  go  myself — 
there  are  reasons  why  I  can't.  And  I  don't 
think  she" — with  a  sidelong  glance  toward  the 
nodding  figure  opposite — "I  don't  think  she 
would  feel  that  she  could  go  and  leave  me.' 

"Certainly  I  will,"  said  Miss  Smith.  "It's 
not  a  bit  of  bother." 

"What  is  it?"  The  woman  had  been  roused 
to  full  wakefulness  by  the  movement  of  the 
stranger  in  rising. 

"Please  don't  move,"  said  Miss  Smith. 
"Your  young  lady  is  thirsty  and  I'm  going  to 
bring  her  a  drink  of  water — that's  all." 

"It's  very  good  of  you,  miss,"  said  the  elder 
woman.  She  reached  for  her  hand  bag.  "I 
think  I've  got  a  penny  here  for  the  cup." 

"I've  plenty  of  pennies,"  said  Miss  Smith. 

At  the  cooler  behind  the  forward  door  she 
filled  a  paper  cup  and  brought  it  back  to  where 
the  two  were.  To  her  surprise  the  elder  woman 
reached  for  the  cup  and  took  it  from  her  and 
held  it  to  the  girl's  lips  while  she  drank.  With 
a  profound  shock  of  sympathy  the  realization 
went  through  Miss  Smith  that  the  girl  had  not 
the  use  of  her  hands. 

Having  drunk,  the  girl  settled  back  in  her 
former  posture,  her  face  half  turned  toward  the 
window  and  her  head  drooping  as  if  from  weari 
ness.     The  woman  laid  the  emptied  cup  aside 
___ 


IT      COULD      HAPPEN      AGAIN 

and  at  once  was  dozing  off  again.  The  third 
member  of  the  group  sat  in  pitying  wonder. 
She  wondered  what  affliction  had  made  a  crip 
ple  of  this  wholesome-looking  bonny  creature. 
She  thought  of  ghastly  things  she  had  read 
concerning  the  dreadful  after  effects  of  infan 
tile  paralysis,  but  rejected  the  suggestion,  be 
cause  no  matter  what  else  of  dread  and  woe  the 
girl's  eyes  had  betrayed  the  face  was  too  plump 
and  the  body,  which  she  could  feel  touching 
hers,  too  firm  and  well  nourished  to  betoken  a 
present  and  wasting  infirmity.  So  then  it  must 
have  been  some  accident — some  maiming  mis 
hap  which  probably  had  not  been  of  recent  oc 
currence,  since  nothing  else  about  the  girl  sug 
gested  physical  impairment.  If  this  deduction 
were  correct,  the  wearing  of  the  shrouding  blue 
cape  in  an  atmosphere  almost  stiflingly  close 
stood  explained.  It  was  so  worn  to  hide  the 
injured  limbs  from  view.  That,  of  course, 
would  be  the  plausible  explanation.  Yet  at  the 
same  time  an  inner  consciousness  gave  Miss 
Smith  a  certain  and  absolute  conviction  that 
the  specter  of  fearfulness  lurking  at  the  back 
of  those  big  brown  eyes  meant  more  than  the 
ever-present  realization  of  some  bodily  disfig 
urement. 

Fascinated,  she  found  her  eyes  searching  the 
shape  beside  her  for  a  clew  to  the  answer  of 
this  lamentable  mystery.  In  her  covert  scru 
tiny  there  was  no  morbid  desire  to  spy  upon 
another's  hidden  miseries — our  Miss  Smith  was 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


too  well-bred  for  that — only  was  there  a  sud 
den  quickened  pity  and  with  that  pity  a  yearn 
ing  to  offer,  if  opportunity  served,  any  small 
comfort  of  act  or  word  which  might  fitly  come 
her  way.  As  her  glance — behind  the  cover  of 
her  reopened  book — traveled  over  the  cloaked 
shape  searching  for  a  clew  to  the  secret  she 
saw  how  that  chance  promised  to  serve  her 
ends.  The  girl  was  half  turned  from  her,  a 
shoulder  pressing  against  the  window  ledge; 
the  twist  of  her  body  had  drawn  one  front 
breadth  of  the  cape  awry  so  that  no  longer  did 
it  completely  overlap  its  fellow.  In  the  slight 
opening  thus  unwittingly  contrived  Miss  Smith 
could  make  out  at  the  wearer's  belt  line  a 
partly  obscured  inch  or  two  of  what  seemed  to 
be  a  heavy  leathern  gear,  or  truss,  which  so  far 
as  the  small  limits  of  the  exposed  area  gave 
hint  as  to  its  purpose  appeared  to  engage  the 
forearms  like  a  surgical  device,  supporting  their 
weight  below  the  bend  of  the  elbows.  With 
quickening  and  enhanced  sympathy  the  little 
woman  winced. 

Then  she  started,  her  gaze  lifting  quickly. 
Of  a  sudden  she  became  aware  that  the  girl  was 
regarding  her  straightforwardly  with  those  hag 
gard  eyes. 

"Can  you  tell  what  the — the  trouble  is  with 
me?"  she  asked. 

She  spoke  under  her  breath,  the  wraith  of  a 
weary  little  smile  about  her  mouth. 

"Oh,  I'm  so  sorry,"  answered  Miss  Smith 
[166] 


IT      COULD      HAPPEN      AGAIN 

contritely.  "But  please  believe  me — it  was  not 
mere  cheap  inquisitiveness  that  made  me  look." 

" I  think  I  know,"  said  the  girl  softly.  "You 
were  sorry.  And  it  doesn't  matter  much — your 
seeing.  Somehow  I  don't  mind  your  seeing." 

"But  I  haven't  really  seen — I  only  caught  a 
glimpse.  And  I'm  afraid  now  that  I've  been 
pressing  too  closely  against  your  side;  perhaps 
giving  you  pain  by  touching  your  arms." 

"My  arms  are  not  hurting  me,"  said  the  girl, 
still  with  that  queer  ghost  of  a  smile  at  her 
lips.  "I've  not  been  hurt  or  injured  in  any 
way." 

"Not  hurt?    Then  why— " 

She  choked  the  involuntary  question  even  as 
she  was  framing  it. 

"This — this  has  been  done,  I  suppose,  to 
keep  me  from  hurting  anyone  else." 

"But— but  I  don't  understand." 

"Don't  you— yet?  Then  lift  a  fold  of  my 
wrap — carefully,  so  no  one  else  can  see  while 
you  are  looking.  I'd  rather  you  did,"  she  con 
tinued,  seeing  how  Miss  Smith  hesitated. 

"But  I  am  a  stranger  to  you.  I  don't  wish 
to  pry.  I- 

" Please  do!  Then  perhaps  you  won't  be 
worrying  later  on  about — about  me  if  you  know 
the  truth  now." 

With  one  hand  Miss  Smith  turned  back  the 
edge  of  the  cape,  enlarging  slightly  the  open 
ing,  and  what  she  saw  shocked  her  more  deeply 
than  though  she  had  beheld  some  hideous  mu- 
[167] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


tilation.  She  saw  that  about  both  of  the  girl's 
wrists  were  snugly  strapped  broad  leather 
bands,  designed  something  after  the  fashion  of 
the  armlets  sometimes  worn  by  athletes  and 
artisans,  excepting  that  here  the  buckle  fasten 
ings  were  set  upon  the  tops  of  the  wrists  in 
stead  of  upon  the  inner  sides;  saw,  too,  that 
these  cuffs  were  made  fast  to  a  wide  leather 
belt,  which  in  an  unbroken  band  encircled  the 
girl's  trunk,  so  that  her  prisoned  forearms  were 
pressed  in  and  confined  closely  against  her  body 
at  the  line  of  her  waist.  Her  elbows  she  might 
move  slightly  and  her  fingers  freely;  but  the 
hands  were  held  well  apart  and  the  fingers  in 
play  might  touch  only  the  face  of  the  broad 
girthing,  which  presumably  was  made  fast  by 
buckles  or  lacings  at  her  back.  As  if  the  better 
to  indicate  how  firmly  she  was  secured,  the 
wearer  of  these  strange  bonds  flexed  her  arm 
muscles  slightly;  the  result  was  a  little  creak 
ing  sound  as  the  harness  answered  the  strain. 
Then  the  girl  relaxed  and  the  sound  ended. 

"Oh,  you  poor  child!"  The  gasped  exclama 
tion  came  involuntarily,  carrying  all  the  deeper 
burden  of  compassion  because  it  was  uttered  in 
a  half  whisper.  Quickly  she  snugged  the  cloak 
in  to  cover  the  ugly  thing  she  had  looked  upon. 
"What  have  you  done  that  you  should  be 
treated  so?" 

Indignation  was  in  the  asking — that  and  an 
incredulous  disbelief  that  here  had  been  any 

wrongdoing.   

__ 


IT      COULD     HAPPEN      AGAIN 

"It  isn't  what  I've  done — exactly.  I  imag 
ine  it  is  their  fear  of  what  they  think  I  might 
do  if  my  hands  were  free." 

"But  where  are  you  going?  Where  are  these 
people  taking  you?  You're  no  criminal.  I 
know  you're  not.  You  couldn't  be!" 

"I  am  being  taken  to  a  place  up  the  road  to 
be  confined  as  a  dangerous  lunatic." 

In  the  accenting  of  the  words  was  no  trace 
of  rebellion  or  even  of  self-pity,  but  merely 
there  was  the  dead  weight  and  numbness  of  a 
hopeless  resignation  to  make  the  words  sound 
flat  and  listless. 

"I  don't  believe  one  word  of  it!"  exclaimed 
Miss  Smith,  then  broke  off  short,  realizing  that 
the  shock  of  the  girl's  piteous  admission  had 
sent  her  own  voice  lifting  and  that  now  she 
had  a  second  listener.  The  woman  diagonally 
across  from  her  was  sitting  bolt  upright  and  a 
pair  of  small  eyes  were  narrowing  upon  her  in 
a  squint  of  watchful  and  hostile  suspicion.  In 
stantly  she  stood  up — a  small,  competent,  de 
termined  body. 

"I'll  be  back,"  she  stated,  disregarding  the 
elder  woman  and  speaking  to  the  younger. 
"And  I'm  going  to  find  out  more  about  you, 
too,  before  I'm  done." 

Her  step,  departing,  was  brisk  and  resolute. 

In  the  aisle  near  the  forward  door  she  en 
countered  the  flagman. 

"There  is  a  man  in  the  smoker  I  must  see  at 
once,"  she  said.  "Will  you  please  go  in  there 
[169] 


SUNDRY      ACCOUNTS 

and  find  him  and  tell  him  I  wish — no,  never 
mind.    I  see  him  coming  now." 

She  went  a  step  or  two  on  to  meet  the  per 
son  she  sought,  halting  him  in  the  untenanted 
space  at  the  end  of  the  coach. 

"I  want  to  speak  with  you,  please,"  she 
began. 

"Well,  you'll  have  to  hurry,"  he  told  her, 
"because  I'm  getting  off  with  my  party  in 
less'n  five  minutes  from  now.  What  was  it 
you  wanted  to  say  to  me?" 

"That  young  girl  yonder — I  became  inter 
ested  in  her.  I  thought  perhaps  she  had  been 
injured.  Then  more  or  less  by  chance  I  found 
out  the  true  facts.  I  spoke  to  her;  she  told 
me  a  little  about  her  plight." 

"Well,  if  you've  been  talking  to  her  what's 
the  big  idea  in  talking  to  me?" 

His  tone  was  churlish. 

"This  isn't  mere  vulgar  curiosity  on  my  part. 
I  have  a  perfectly  proper  motive,  I  think,  in  in 
quiring  into  her  case.  What  is  her  name. " 

"Margaret  Vinsolving." 

"Spell  it  for  me,  please — the  last  name?" 

He  spelled  it  out,  and  she  after  him  to  fix  it 
in  her  mind. 

"Where  does  she  live — I  mean  where  is  her 
home?" 

"Village  of  Pleasantdale,  this  state,"  shortly. 

"Who  are  her  people?" 

"She's  got  a  mother  and  that's  all,  far  as  I 

know." 

[170]        


IT      COULD      HAPPEN      AGAIN 

"What  asylum  are  you  taking  her  to?" 

"No  asylum.  We're  taking  her  to  Doctor 
Snorter's  Sanitarium  back  of  Peekskill  two 
miles — Dr.  Clement  Shorter,  specialist  in  nerv 
ous  disorders — he's  the  head." 

"It  is  a  private  place  then  and  not  a  state 
asylum?" 

"You  said  it." 

"You  are  connected  with  this  Doctor  Short 
er 's  place,  I  assume?" 

"Yep." 

"In  what  capacity?" 

"Oh,  sort  of  an  outside  man — look  after  the 
grounds  and  help  out  generally  with  the  pa 
tients  and  all.  And  now,  say,  lady,  if  that'll 
satisfy  you  I  guess  I  better  be  stepping  along. 
I  got  to  see  about  getting  this  here  patient  and 
the  matron  off  the  train;  that's  the  matron 
that's  setting  with  her." 

"Just  a  moment  more,  please." 

She  felt  in  a  fob  set  under  the  cuff  of  her  left 
sleeve  and  brought  forth  a  small  gold  badge 
and  held  it  cupped  in  her  gloved  hand  for  him 
to  see.  As  he  bent  his  head  and  made  out  the 
meaning  of  the  badge  the  gruff  air  dropped 
from  him  magically. 

"Oh,  I  see!"  he  said.  "Secret  Service,  eh? 
All  right,  ma'am,  what  more  did  you  want  to 
know?  Only  I'd  ask  you  speak  brisk  because 
there  ain't  so  much  time." 

"Tell  me  briefly  what  you  know  of  that 

child." 

[171] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


"Not  such  a  lot,  excepting  she's  a  dangerous 
lunatic,  having  been  legally  adjudged  so  yes- 
tiddy.  And  her  mother's  paying  for  her  keep 
at  a  high-class  place  where  she  can  have  special 
treatment  and  special  care  instead  of  letting 
her  be  put  away  in  one  of  the  state  asylums. 
And  so  I'm  taking  her  there — me  and  the  ma 
tron  yonder.  That's  about  all,  I  guess." 

"I  don't  believe  it." 

"You  don't  believe  what?" 

He  was  beginning  to  bristle  anew. 

"Don't  believe  she  is  insane  at  all,  much  less 
dangerously  so.  Why,  I've  just  been  talking 
with  her.  We  exchanged  only  a  few  words, 
but  in  all  that  she  said  she  was  so  perfectly 
rational,  so  perfectly  sensible.  Besides,  one  has 
only  to  look  at  her  to  feel  sure  some  terrible 
mistake  or  some  terrible  injustice  is  being  done. 
Surely  there  is  nothing  eccentric,  nothing  er 
ratic  about  her;  now  is  there?  You  must  have 
been  studying  her.  Don't  you  yourself  feel 
that  there  might  have  been  something  wrong 
about  her  commitment?" 

He  shook  his  head. 

"Not  a  chancet.  Everything's  been  posi 
tively  regular  and  aboveboard.  You  can't  rail 
road  folks  into  Doctor  Shorter's  place;  he's 
got  too  high  a  standing.  Shorter  takes  no 
chances  with  anybody." 

"But  she  seemed  so  absolutely  normal  in 
speech,  manner — everything.  I've  seen  insane 

persons  before  now  and — " 

__ 


IT      COULD      HAPPEN      AGAIN 

"Excuse  me,  but  about  how  many  have  you 
seen?" 

"Not  many,  I  admit,  but — " 

"Well,  excuse  me  again,  lady,  but  I  thought 
as  much.  Well,  I  have — plenty  of  'em  I've 
seen  in  my  time.  See  'em  every  day  for  the 
matter  of  that.  Listen  to  me!  For  instance, 
now,  we've  got  a  case  up  there  with  us  now. 
He's  been  there  going  on  fifteen  years;  used  to 
be  a  preacher,  highly  educated  and  all  that. 
Look  at  him  and  you  wouldn't  see  a  thing  out 
of  the  way  with  him  except  that  he'd  be  wear 
ing  a  strait-jacket.  Talk  to  him  for  maybe  a 
week  and  you  wouldn't  notice  a  single  thing 
wrong  about  him.  He'd  just  strike  you  all 
along  as  being  one  of  the  nicest,  mildest,  old 
Christian  gents  you  ever  met  up  with  in  your 
whole  life.  But  get  him  on  a  certain  subject; 
just  mention  a  certain  word  to  him  and  he'd 
tear  your  throat  out  with  his  bare  hands  if  he 
could  get  at  you." 

"But  this  poor  girl,  surely  her  case  is  differ 
ent?  Was  it  really  necessary  to  bind  her  hands 
as  you've  done?" 

"Lady,  about  these  here  violent  ones  you 
can't  never  tell.  Me,  I  never  saw  her  in  my 
life  before  I  went  down  after  her  this  morning, 
and  up  to  now  she  hasn't  made  me  a  mite  of 
trouble.  But  I  had  my  warning  from  them 
that  turned  her  over  to  me.  Anyhow,  all  I 
needed  was  the  story  of  her  own  mother,  as 
fine  a  lady  as  you'd  care  to  see  and  just  about 
~  173 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


broken-hearted  over  all  this.  You'd  think  from 
the  way  she  carried  on  she  was  the  one  that 
was  being  put  away  and  not  the  daughter. 
And  yet,  what  did  the  mother  swear  to  on  her 
sacred  oath?  She  swore  to  the  daughter's  hav 
ing  tried,  not  once  but  half  a  dozen  separate 
times  to  kill  her,  till  she  was  afraid  for  her 
own  life — positively! 

"Besides,  lady,  it's  been  my  experience,  and 
I've  had  a  heap  of  it,  that  it's  the  quiet-acting 
ones  that  are  apt  to  strike  the  quickest  and  do 
the  most  damage  when  the  fit  comes  on  'em. 
So  taking  everything  into  consideration,  I  felt 
like  as  if  I  oughter  be  purty  careful  handling 
her  on  this  trip.  But  she's  all  right.  Probably 
nobody  on  this  train,  outside  of  you,  knows 
there's  anything  wrong  with  her  and  it  was  ac 
cidental-like,  so  you  tell  me,  the  way  you  come 
to  find  out — you  taking  that  seat  alongside  her 
and  getting  into  talk  with  her  whilst  I  was  in 
yonder  smoking.  It's  better  she  should  be 
under  control  thataway  than  that  she  should 
maybe  get  a  spell  on  her  right  here  in  this  car 
or  somewheres  and  me  be  forced  to  hold  her 
down  by  main  strength  and  possibly  have  to 
handle  her  pretty  rough.  I  put  it  to  you  now, 
ain't  it?  The  way  she's  fixed  she  can't  harm 
herself  nor  no  one  else.  You  take  it  from  me, 
lady,  that  while  I've  been  in  this  business  for 
so  long  I  don't  always  get  my  private  feelings 
harrowed  up  over  the  case  of  a  nice-looking 
young  girl  like  this  one  is,  like  an  outsider 
[174] 


IT      COULD      HAPPEN      AGAIN 

might,  still  at  that  I  ain't  hard-hearted  and  I 
ain't  aiming  to  be  severe  just  because  I  can. 
But  what  else  is  there  for  me  to  do  except  what 
I'm  doing?  I  ask  you.  Say,  it's  funny  she 
talked  to  you.  She  ain't  said  hardly  a  word  to 
us  since  she  started.  Didn't  even  say  nothing 
when  I  put  the  hobbles  on  her." 

"I'm  not  questioning  your  judgment,"  said 
Miss  Smith,  "but  she  is  so  pitiable!  She 
seemed  to  me  like  some  dumb,  frightened,  wild 
creature  caught  in  a  trap.  And  despite  what 
you  say  I'm  sure  she  can't  be  mad.  Please, 
may  I  speak  with  her  again — if  she  herself 
doesn't  mind?" 

"I'm  af eared  it's  too  late,"  he  said  not  un 
kindly.  "We're  slowing  down  for  Peekskill 
now.  I'll  have  to  step  lively  as  it  is  to  get  'em 
off  shipshape.  But  if  you've  still  got  any 
doubts  left  in  your  mind  you  can  look  up  the 
court  records  at  White  Plains.  You'll  find 
everything's  been  done  positively  legal  and 
regular.  And  if  you  should  want  to  reach  me 
any  time  to  find  out  how  she's  getting  along 
or  anything  like  that,  why  my  name  is  Abram 
Foley,  care  of  Doctor  Shorter." 

He  cast  this  farewell  information  back  over 
his  shoulder  as  he  hurried  from  her. 

Half  convinced  yet  doubting  still,  and  filled 
wholly  with  an  overmastering  pity,  Miss  Smith 
stood  where  she  was  while  the  train  jerkily 
came  to  a  standstill.  There  she  stayed,  watch- 
ing,  as  the  trio  quitted  the  car.  Past  her  where 
[175] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


she  stood  the  man  Foley  led  the  way,  burdened 
with  the  heavy  suitcase.  Next  came  his  charge, 
walking  steadily  erect,  mercifully  cloaked  to 
her  knees  in  the  blue  garment;  and  the  ma 
tron,  in  turn  behind  her,  bearing  a  hand  bag 
and  an  odd  parcel  or  two.  About  the  depart 
ing  group  a  casual  onlooker  would  have  sensed 
nothing  unusual.  But  our  Miss  Smith,  know 
ing  what  she  did  know,  held  a  clenched  hand 
to  the  lump  that  had  formed  in  her  throat. 
She  was  minded  to  speak  in  farewell  to  the 
prisoner,  and  yet  a  second  impulse  held  her 
mute. 

She  fell  in  behind  the  three  of  them  though, 
following  as  far  as  the  platform,  being  minded 
to  witness  the  last  visible  act  of  the  tragedy 
upon  which  she  had  stumbled.  Her  eyes  and 
her  heart  went  with  them  as  they  crossed 
through  the  open  shed  of  the  station,  the  man 
still  leading,  the  matron  with  one  hand  guiding 
their  unresisting  ward  toward  where  a  closed 
automobile,  a  sort  of  hybrid  between  a  town 
car  and  an  ambulance,  was  drawn  up  on  the 
driveway  just  beyond  the  eaves  of  the  build 
ing.  A  driver  in  a  gray  livery  opened  the  door 
of  the  car  for  its  occupants. 

Alongside  the  automobile  the  girl  swung  her 
self  round,  her  head  thrown  back,  as  a  felon 
might  face  about  at  the  gateway  of  his  prison 
— for  a  last  view  of  the  free  world  he  was  leav 
ing  behind.  Seemingly  the  vigilant  woman  mis- 
interpreted  this  movement  as  the  first  indica- 


IT      COULD      HAPPEN      AGAIN 

tion  of  a  spirit  of  kindling  obstinacy.  Alarmed, 
she  caught  at  the  girl  to  restrain  her.  Her 
grasp  closed  upon  the  shoulder  of  the  cape  and 
as  the  wrenched  garment  came  away  in  her 
hand  the  prisoner  stood  revealed  in  her  bonds 
— a  slim  graceful  figure,  for  all  the  disfigure 
ment  of  the  clumsy  harness  work  which  fet 
tered  her. 

An  instant  later  the  cape  had  been  replaced 
upon  her  shoulders,  hiding  her  state  from  curi 
ous  eyes,  but  in  that  same  brief  space  of  time 
she  must  have  seen  leaning  from  the  train, 
which  now  again  was  in  motion,  the  shape  of 
her  unknown  champion,  for  she  nodded  her 
head  as  though  in  gratitude  and  good-by  and 
her  white  face  suddenly  was  lighted  with  what 
the  passenger  upon  the  car  platform,  seeing 
this  through  a  sudden  mist  of  tears,  thought  to 
be  the  bravest,  most  pitiable  smile  that  ever 
she  had  seen. 

The  train  doubled  round  an  abrupt  curve, 
in  the  sharpness  of  its  swing  almost  throwing 
her  off  her  feet,  and  when  she  had  regained  her 
balance  and  looked  again  the  station  was  fur 
longs  behind  her,  hidden  from  sight  by  inter 
vening  buildings. 

It  was  that  smile  of  farewell  which  acted  as 
a  flux  to  carry  into  the  recipient's  mind  a  reso 
lution  already  forming.  Into  things  her  emo 
tions  were  likely  to  lead  her  headlong  and  im 
petuously,  but  for  a  way  out  of  them  this 
somewhat  unusual  young  woman  named  Smith 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


generally  had  for  her  guide  a  certain  clear 
quality  of  reasoning,  backed  by  an  intuition 
which  helped  her  frequently  to  achieve  satis 
factory  results.  So  it  was  with  her  in  this  in 
stance. 

Her  share  of  the  business  in  Troy  completed, 
as  speedily  it  was,  she  stayed  in  Albany  for 
half  a  day  on  her  way  back  and  called  upon 
the  governor.  At  first  sight  he  liked  her,  for 
her  good  looks,  for  her  trigness,  her  directness 
and  more  than  any  of  these  for  the  excellent 
mental  poise  which  so  patently  was  a  part  of 
her.  The  outcome  of  her  visit  to  him  and  his 
enthusiastic  admiration  for  her  was  that  the 
district  attorney  of  Westchester  County  shortly 
thereafter  instituted  an  investigation,  the  chief 
fruitage  of  that  investigation  being  embodied 
in  a  somewhat  longish  letter  from  him,  which 
Miss  Smith  read  in  her  studio  apartment  one 
afternoon  perhaps  three  weeks  after  the  date 
of  her  meeting  on  trainboard  with  that  ad 
judged  maniac,  the  girl  Margaret  Vinsolving. 

To  the  letter  was  a  polite  preamble.  She 
skipped  it.  We  may  do  well  to  follow  her  lead 
and  come  to  the  body  of  it,  which  ran  like  this: 

"Mrs.  Janet  Vinsolving  is  the  widow  of  a 
colonel  in  our  Regular  Army.  My  information 
is  that  she  is  a  woman  of  culture  and  refine 
ment.  Since  the  death  of  her  husband  some 
eight  years  ago  she  has  been  residing  in  a  small 
home  which  she  owns  in  the  outskirts  of  Pleas- 
[178] 


IT      COULD      HAPPEN      AGAIN 

antdale  village  in  this  county.  From  the  fact 
that  she  keeps  no  servants  and  from  other  facts 
brought  to  me  I  gather  that  she  is  in  very  mod 
est  circumstances.  She  has  been  living  quite 
alone  except  for  the  daughter,  Margaret,  who 
is  her  only  child.  The  daughter  was  educated 
in  the  public  schools  of  the  county.  Lately  she 
has  been  studying  applied  designing  with  a 
view  to  becoming  an  interior  decorator." 

"Ah,  now  I  know  another  reason  why  I  was 
drawn  to  her!"  interpolated  the  reader,  speak 
ing  to  herself.  With  heightened  interest  she 
read  on: 

"On  inquiry  it  appears  that  among  her  for 
mer  schoolmates  and  teachers  she  was  popular, 
though  not  inclined  to  make  intimates.  She  is 
reputed  to  have  been  rather  high-tempered,  but 
seemingly  throughout  her  childhood  and  young 
girlhood  there  was  nothing  about  her  conduct 
or  appearance  to  indicate  a  disordered  mind. 
Indeed  there  was  no  suggestion  of  mental  aber 
ration  on  her  part  from  any  source  until  within 
the  past  month.  However,  I  should  add  that 
it  is  rather  hard  to  arrive  at  any  accurate  esti 
mate  of  her  general  behavior  by  reason  of  the 
fact  that  mother  and  daughter  led  so  secluded 
a  life.  They  had  acquaintances  in  the  com 
munity,  but  apparently  no  close  friends  there 
or  elsewhere. 

"About  four  weeks  ago,  on  the  twenty -eighth 
of  last  month  to  be  exact,  the  mother,  de 
scribed  to  me  as  being  in  a  state  of  great  dis- 
[179] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


tress,  visited  Justice  Cannavan,  then  sitting  in 
chambers  at  White  Plains,  and  asking  for  a 
private  interview  with  him,  requested  an  in 
quiry  into  the  sanity  of  the  girl  Margaret,  with 
a  view,  as  she  explained,  of  protecting  her  own 
life.  Her  daughter,  she  alleged,  had  without 
warning  developed  a  homicidal  tendency  aimed 
at  the  applicant. 

"According  to  Mrs.  Vinsolving,  the  girl,  who 
always  theretofore  had  been  a  devoted  and  af 
fectionate  child,  had  made  at  least  five  sepa 
rate  and  distinct  attempts  to  kill  her,  first  by 
putting  poison  into  her  food  and  later  by  at 
tempting  to  strangle  her  at  night  in  her  bed. 
Next  only  to  a  natural  desire  to  have  her  own 
physical  safety  insured,  the  mother  was  ap 
parently  inspired  by  a  wish  to  surround  the 
truth  regarding  her  beloved  child's  aberration 
with  as  much  secrecy  as  possible.  At  the  same 
time  she  realized  that  a  certain  amount  of  pub 
licity  was  inevitable. 

"Acting  under  the  statutes,  the  justice  ap 
pointed  two  reputable  practicing  physicians  of 
the  county,  namely  Dr.  Ernest  Malt,  of  Win- 
corah,  and  Dr.  James  P.  McGlore,  of  Pleasant- 
dale,  to  sit  as  a  commission  for  the  purpose  of 
inquiring  into  Miss  Vinsolving's  mental  state. 
The  mother,  still  exhibiting  every  evidence  of 
maternal  grief,  appeared  before  these  gentle 
men  and  repeated  in  detail  the  account  of  the 
attacks  made  upon  her,  as  previdesously  cribed 

to  His  Honor. 

__ 


IT      COULD      HAPPEN      AGAIN 

"The  girl  was  then  brought  before  the  com 
mission.  It  was  explained  to  her  that  under 
the  law  she  had  the  right  to  demand  a  hearing 
in  open  court  before  a  jury  chosen  to  pass 
upon  her  sanity.  This  she  waived,  but  from 
this  point  on  throughout  the  inquiry  she  stead 
fastly  declined  to  make  answers  to  the  ques 
tions  propounded  to  her  by  the  members  of  the 
commission  in  an  effort  to  ascertain  her  mental 
status,  but  on  the  contrary  persistently  main 
tained  a  silence  which  they  interpreted  as  a 
phase  of  insane  cunning  characteristic  of  a  type 
of  abnormality  not  often  encountered,  but  in 
their  opinion  the  more  sinister  and  significant 
because  of  its  rarity. 

"They  accordingly  drew  up  a  finding  setting 
forth  that  in  their  opinion  and  deliberate  judg 
ment  the  unfortunate  young  woman  was  suf 
fering  from  a  progressive  and  therefore  prob 
ably  incurable  form  of  dementia.  The  justice 
immediately  signed  the  necessary  orders  for 
her  detention  and  commitment.  To  save  the 
daughter  from  being  sent  to  a  state  institution 
the  mother  provided  funds  sufficient  for  her 
care  at  Doctor  Shorter 's  sanitarium,  an  estab 
lishment  of  unimpeachable  reputation,  and  she 
accordingly  was  taken  there  in  proper  custody, 
as  you  yourself  are  aware. 

"My  information  from  the  sanitarium,  which 

I  procured  in  response  to  your  request,  and  the 

governor's  instructions  to  me  for  a  full  inquiry 

into  all  the  circumstances  is  that  since  her  con- 

[181] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


finement  Miss  Vinsolving  has  been  under  con 
stant  observation.  She  has  been  orderly  and 
obedient  and  except  for  slightly  melancholic 
tendencies,  which  might  easily  be  provoked  by 
the  nature  of  her  environment,  is  quite  natural 
in  her  behavior.  I  draw  the  inference,  how 
ever,  that  this  docility  may  be  merely  the  fore 
runner  of  an  outburst  at  any  time. 

"Altogether  my  investigation  convinces  me 
that  no  miscarriage  of  the  law  could  possibly 
have  occurred  in  this  instance.  There  is  cer 
tainly  no  ground  for  suspecting  that  the  mother 
had  any  ulterior  or  improper  motive  in  seeking 
to  have  her  daughter  and  sole  companion  de 
prived  of  liberty.  Neither  the  mother  nor  any 
other  person  alive  can  hope  to  profit  in  a  finan 
cial  sense  by  reason  of  the  girl's  temporary  or 
permanent  detention. 

"The  girl  herself  is  without  means  of  her 
own.  The  mother  for  her  maintenance  is  largely 
dependent  upon  the  pension  she  receives  from 
the  United  States  Government.  The  girl  had 
no  income  or  estate  of  her  own  and  no  expec 
tancy  of  any  inheritance  from  any  imaginable 
source  other  than  the  small  estate  she  will  le 
gally  inherit  at  the  death  of  her  mother.  Fi 
nally  I  may  add  that  nowhere  in  the  case  has 
there  developed  any  suggestion  of  a  scandal  in 
the  life  of  mother  or  daughter  or  of  any  clan 
destine  love  affair  on  the  part  of  either. 

"These  briefly  are  the  available  facts  as  com- 
piled  by  a  trustworthy  member  of  my  staff, 
[182] 


IT     COULD     HAPPEN     AGAIN 

Assistant  District  Attorney  Horace  Wilkes,  to 
whom  I  detailed  the  duty  of  making  a  pains 
taking  inquiry.  If  I  may  hereafter  be  of  serv 
ice  to  you  in  this  matter  or  any  other  matter, 
kindly  command  me.  I  have  the  honor  to  be, 
"Yours  etc.,  etc." 

With  a  little  gesture  of  despairful  resigna 
tion  Miss  Smith  laid  the  letter  down.  Well, 
there  was  nothing  more  she  could  do;  nothing 
more  to  be  done.  She  had  come  to  a  blind 
end.  The  proof  was  conclusive  of  the  worst. 
But  in  her  thoughts,  waking  and  sleeping,  per 
sisted  the  image  of  that  gallant,  pathetic  little 
figure  which  she  had  seen  last  at  the  Peekskill 
station,  bound,  helpless,  alone  and  all  so  cour 
ageously  facing  what  to  most  of  us  would  be 
worse  than  death  itself.  Awake  or  in  sleep  she 
could  not  get  it  out  of  her  mind. 

At  length  one  night  following  on  a  day  which 
for  the  greater  part  she  had  spent  in  a  study 
of  the  somewhat  curious  laws  that  in  New  York 
State — as  well  as  in  divers  other  states  of  the 
Union — govern  the  procedure  touching  certain 
classes  coming  within  purview  of  the  code,  she 
awoke  in  the  little  hours  preceding  the  dawn 
to  find  herself  saying  aloud:  "There's  some 
thing  wrong — there  must  be — there  has  to 
be!" 

Until  daylight  and  after  she  lay  there  plan 
ning  a  course  of  action  until  finally  she  had  it 

completed.     True,  it  was  a  grasping  at  feeble 
__ 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


straws,  but  even  so  she  meant  to  follow  along 
the  only  course  which  seemed  open  to  her. 

First  she  did  some  long-distance  telephoning. 
Then  immediately  after  breakfast  she  sent  to 
the  garage  round  the  corner  for  her  runabout 
and  in  it  she  rode  up  through  the  city  and  on 
into  Westchester,  now  beginning  to  flaunt  the 
circus  colors  of  a  gorgeous  Indian  summer.  An 
hour  and  a  half  of  steady  driving  brought  her 
to  the  village  of  Pleasantdale.  She  found  it  a 
place  well  named,  seeing  that  it  was  tucked 
down  in  a  cove  among  the  hills  between  the 
Hudson  on  the  one  side  and  the  Sound  on  the 
other. 

Following  the  directions  given  her  by  a  lone 
policeman  on  duty  in  the  tiny  public  square, 
she  ran  two  blocks  along  the  main  street  and 
drew  up  where  a  window  sign  giving  name  and 
hours  advertised  that  James  P.  McGlore,  M.D., 
here  professionally  received  patients  in  his  of 
fice  on  the  lower  floor  of  his  place  of  residence. 
A  maidservant  answered  the  caller's  knock, 
and  showing  her  into  a  chamber  furnished  like 
a  parlor  which  had  started  out  to  be  a  recep 
tion  room  and  then  had  tried — too  late — to 
change  back  again  into  a  parlor,  bade  her  wait. 
She  did  not  have  long  to  wait.  Almost  imme 
diately  an  inner  door  opened  and  in  the  open 
ing  appeared  the  short  and  blocky  figure  of  a 
somewhat  elderly,  old-fashioned-looking  man 
with  a  square  homely  face — a  face  which  in 
stantly  she  classified  as  belonging  to  a  rather 


IT      COULD      HAPPEN      AGAIN 

stupid,  very  dogmatic  and  utterly  honest  man. 
He  had  outjutting,  belligerent  eyebrows  and  a 
stubborn  under  jaw  that  was  badly  undershot. 
He  spoke  as  he  entered  and  his  tone  was  no 
ticeably  not  cordial. 

"The  girl  tells  me  your  name  is  Smith.  I 
suppose  from  that  you're  the  young  person 
that  the  district  attorney  telephoned  me  about 
an  hour  or  so  ago.  Well,  how  can  I  serve 
you?" 

"Perhaps,  doctor,  the  district  attorney  told 
you  I  had  interested  myself  in  the  case  of  the 
Vinsolving  girl — Margaret  Vinsolving,"  she  be 
gan.  "I  had  intended  to  call  also  upon  your 
associate,  Doctor  Malt,  over  at  Wincorah,  but 
I  learn  he  is  away." 

"Yes,  yes,"  he  said  with  a  sort  of  hurried 
petulance.  "Know  all  about  that.  Malt's  like 
a  lot  of  these  young  new  physicians — always 
running  off  on  vacations.  Mustn't  hold  me  re 
sponsible  for  his  absences.  Got  no  time  to 
think  about  the  other  fellow.  Own  affairs  are 
enough — keep  me  busy.  Well,  go  on,  why  don't 
you?  You  were  speaking  of  the  Vinsolving 
girl.  Well,  what  of  her?" 

"I  was  saying  that  I  had  interested  myself 
in  her  case  and — " 

He  snapped  in:  "One  moment.  Let's  get 
this  all  straightened  out  before  we  start.  May 
I  inquire  if  you  are  closely  related  to  the  young 
person  in  question?" 

"I  am  not.  I  never  saw  her  but  once." 

[185] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


"Are  you  by  any  chance  a  close  friend  of  the 
young  woman?" 

He  towered  over  her,  for  she  was  seated  and 
he  had  not  offered  to  sit  down.  Indeed  through 
out  the  interview  he  remained  standing. 

Looking  up  at  him,  where  he  glowered  above 
her,  she  answered  back  promptly: 

"As  I  was  saying,  I  never  saw  her  but  once 
— that  was  on  the  day  she  was  carried  away 
to  be  placed  in  confinement.  So  I  cannot  call 
myself  her  friend  exactly,  though  I  would  like 
to  be  her  friend.  It  was  because  of  the  sym 
pathy  which  her  position — and  I  might  add, 
her  personality — roused  in  me  that  I  have  taken 
the  liberty  of  coming  here  to  see  you  about 
her." 

Under  his  breath  he  growled  and  grunted 
and  puffed  certain  sounds.  She  caught  the 
purport  of  at  least  two  of  the  words. 

"Pardon  me,  doctor,"  she  said  briskly,  "but 
I  am  not  an  amateur  philanthropist.  I  trust 
I'm  not  an  amateur  anything.  I  am  a  business 
woman  earning  my  own  living  by  my  own 
labors  and  I  pay  taxes  and  for  the  past  year  or 
so  I  have  been  a  citizen  and  a  voter.  Please 
do  not  regard  me  merely  as  an  officious  med 
dler — a  busybody  with  nothing  to  do  except  to 
mind  other  people's  affairs.  It  was  quite  by 
chance  that  I  came  upon  this  poor  child  and 
learned  something  of  her  unhappy  state." 

The  choleric  brows  went  up  like  twin  stress 
marks  accenting  unspoken  skepticism. 
[186]        ~ 


IT      COULD      HAPPEN      AGAIN 

"A  child — of  twenty-four?"  he  commented 
ironically. 

"A  child,  measured  by  my  age  or  yours.  As 
I  told  you,  I  met  her  quite  accidentally.  She 
appealed  to  me  so — such  a  plucky,  helpless, 
friendless  little  thing  she  seemed  with  those 
hideous  leather  straps  binding  her." 

"Do  you  mean  to  imply  that  she  was  being 
mistreated  by  those  who  had  her  in  charge?" 

"No,  her  escorts — or  attendants  or  warders 
or  guards  or  whatever  one  might  call  them — 
seemed  kindly  enough,  according  to  their  lights. 
But  she  was  so  quiet,  so  passive  that  I — " 

"Well,  would  you  expect  anyone  who  felt  a 
proper  sense  of  responsibility  to  suffer  danger 
ous  maniacs  to  run  at  large  without  restraint 
or  control  of  any  sort  upon  their  limbs  and 
their  actions?" 

"But,  doctor,  that  is  just  the  point — are  you 
so  entirely  sure  that  she  is  a  dangerous  maniac? 
That  is  what  I  want  to  ask  you — whether  there 
isn't  a  possibility,  however  remote,  that  a  mis 
take  may  conceivably  have  been  made?  Please 
don't  misunderstand  me,"  she  interjected 
quickly,  seeing  how  he — already  stiff  and  bristly 
—had  at  her  words  stiffened  and  bristled  still 
more.  "I  do  not  mean  to  intimate  that  any 
thing  unethical  has  been  done.  In  fact  I  am 
quite  sure  that  everything  has  been  quite  eth 
ical.  And  I  am  not  questioning  your  profes 
sional  standing  or  decrying  your  abilities. 

"But  as  I  understand  it,  neither  you  nor 
[187] 


SUNDRY      ACCOUNTS 

Doctor  Malt  is  avowedly  an  alienist.  I  assume 
that  neither  of  you  has  ever  specialized  in  nerv 
ous  or  mental  disorders.  Such  being  the  case, 
don't  you  agree  with  me — this  idea  has  just 
occurred  to  me — that  if  an  alienist,  a  man  es 
pecially  versed  in  these  things  rather  than  a 
general  practitioner,  however  experienced  and 
competent,  were  called  in  even  now — " 

"And  you  just  said  you  were  not  reflecting 
upon  my  professional  abilities!" 

His  tone  was  heavily  sarcastic. 

"Of  course  I  am  not!  I  beg  your  pardon  if 
my  poor  choice  of  language  has  conveyed  any 
such  impression.  What  I  am  trying  to  get  at, 
doctor,  in  my  inexpert  way,  is  that  I  talked 
with  this  girl,  and  while  I  exchanged  only  a 
few  words  with  her,  nevertheless  what  she  said 
— yes,  and  her  bearing  as  well,  her  look,  every 
thing  about  her — impressed  me  as  being  en 
tirely  rational." 

He  fixed  her  with  a  hostile  glare  and  at  her 
he  aimed  a  blunt  gimlet  of  a  forefinger. 

"Are  you  quite  sure  you  are  entirely  sane 
yourself?" 

"I  trust  I  am  fairly  normal." 

"Got  any  little  funny  quirks  in  your  brain? 
Any  little  temperamental  crotchets  in  which 
you  differ  from  the  run  of  people  round  you? 
Think  now!" 

"Well,"  she  confessed,  "I  don't  like  cats— I 
hate  cats.  And  I  don't  like  figured  wall  paper. 

And  I  don't  like—" 

[188] 


IT     COULD     HAPPEN     AGAIN 

"That  will  be  sufficient.  Take  the  first  point: 
You  hate  cats.  On  that  count  alone  any  con 
firmed  cat  lover  would  regard  you  as  being  as 
crazy  as  a  March  hare.  But  until  you  start 
going  round  trying  to  kill  other  people's  cats 
or  trying  to  kill  other  people  who  own  cats 
there's  probably  no  danger  that  anyone  will 
prefer  charges  of  lunacy  against  you  and  have 
you  locked  up." 

She  smiled  a  little  in  spite  of  her  earnestness. 

"Perhaps  it  is  symptomatic  of  a  lesion  in  my 
brain  that  I  should  be  concerning  myself  in  the 
case  of  a  strange  girl  whom  I  have  seen  but 
once — is  that  also  in  your  thoughts,  Doctor 
McGlore?" 

"We'll  waive  that,"  he  said.  "For  the  sake 
of  argument  we'll  concede  that  your  indicative 
peculiarities  assume  a  harmless  phase  at  pres 
ent.  But  this  Vinsolving  girl's  case  is  different 
— hers  were  not  harmless.  Her  acts  were  am 
ply  conclusive  to  establish  proof  of  her  mental 
condition." 

"From  the  district  attorney's  statement  to 
me  I  rather  got  the  impression  that  she  did  not 
indulge  in  any  abnormal  conduct  while  before 
you  for  examination." 

"Did  he  tell  you  of  her  blank  refusal  to  an 
swer  the  simplest  of  the  questions  my  associate 
and  I  put  to  her?" 

"Doctor,"  she  countered,  seeking  to  woo  him 
into  a  better  humor,  "would  you  construe  si- 
lence  on  a  woman's  part  as  necessarily  a  mark 
[  189  ] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


of  insanity?  It  is  a  rare  thing,  I  concede.  But 
might  it  not  sometimes  be  an  admirable  thing 
as  well?" 

But  this  gruff  old  man  was  not  to  be  cajoled 
into  pleasanter  channels  than  the  course  his 
mood  steered  for  him. 

"We'll  waive  that  too.  Anyhow,  the  moth 
er's  evidence  was  enough." 

"But  was  there  anything  else  other  than  the 
mother's  unsupported  story  for  you  to  go  on 
and  be  guided  by?" 

"What  else  was  needed?"  he  retorted  an 
grily.  "What  motive  could  the  mother  have 
except  the  motives  that  were  prompted  by 
mother  love?  That  was  a  devoted,  desolated 
woman  if  ever  I  saw  one.  Look  here!  A 
daughter  without  cause  suddenly  turns  upon 
her  mother  and  tries  to  kill  her.  Well,  then, 
either  she's  turned  criminal  or  she  has  gone 
crazy ! 

"But  why  should  I  go  on  debating  with  you 
a  matter  which  you  don't  know  anything  about 
in  the  first  place  and  in  which  you  have  no  call 
to  interfere  in  the  second  place? 

"I  don't  want  to  be  sharp  with  you,  young 
woman,  but  that's  the  plain  fact.  The  duty 
which  I  undertook  under  the  law  and  as  a 
reputable  physician  was  not  a  pleasant  one, 
and  it  becomes  all  the  less  pleasant  when  an 
unqualified  layman — laywoman  if  you  prefer  to 
phrase  it  that  way — cross-examines  me  on  my 

judgment." 

[190]          


IT      COULD      HAPPEN      AGAIN 

"Doctor,  let  me  repeat  again  I  have  not 
sought  to  cross-question  you  or  belittle  your 
knowledge.  But  you  speak  of  the  law.  Do 
you  not  think  it  a  monstrous  thing  that  two 
men  even  though  they  be  of  high  standing  in 
their  profession  as  general  practitioners,  but 
without  special  acquaintance  with  mental  de 
rangements — I  am  not  speaking  of  this  particu 
lar  case  now  but  of  hundreds  of  other  cases — 
do  you  not  think  it  a  wrong  thing  that  two 
such  persons  may  pass  upon  a  third  person's 
sanity  and  upon  the  uncorroborated  testimony 
of  some  fourth  person  recommend  the  confine 
ment  of  the  accused  third  person  in  an  asylum 
for  the  insane?" 

"I  suppose  you  know  a  person  so  complained 
of — or  accused,  as  you  put  it — has  the  right  to 
a  jury  trial  in  open  court.  This  girl  that  you're 
so  worked  up  about  had  that  right.  She  waived 
it." 

"But  is  a  presumably  demented  person  a  fit 
judge  of  his  or  her  own  best  course  of  conduct? 
In  your  opinion  shouldn't  there  be  other  safe 
guards  in  their  interests  to  insure  against  what 
conceivably  might  be  a  terrible  error  or  a  ter 
rible  injustice?" 

He  didn't  exactly  sneer,  but  he  indulged  him 
self  in  the  first  cousin  of  a  sneer. 

"You've  evidently  been  fortifying  yourself  to 
give  me  a  battle — reading  up  on  the  subject,  eh?  " 

"I've  been  reading  up  on  the  subject — not, 
though,  for  the  purpose  of  entering  into  a  joint 

" [191]     


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


debate  on  the  subject  with  anyone.  But,  doc 
tor,  I  have  read  enough  to  startle  me.  I  never 
knew  before  there  were  such  laws  on  the  stat 
ute  books.  And  I  have  learned  about  another 
case,  the  case  of  that  rich  man — a  multimillion 
aire  the  papers  called  him,  which  means  I  sup 
pose  that  at  least  he  was  well-to-do.  You  re 
member  about  him,  I  am  sure?  A  commission 
declared  him  of  unsound  mind.  He  got  away 
to  another  state  where  the  legal  processes  of 
this  state  could  not  reach  him.  The  courts  of 
that  other  state  declared  him  mentally  compe 
tent  and  capable  of  managing  his  own  affairs — 
and  for  a  period  of  years  he  did  manage  them. 
Here  the  other  month,  under  a  pledge  of  safe 
conduct,  he  returned  to  New  York  on  legal 
business  and  while  he  was  here  he  carried  his 
cause  to  a  higher  court  and  that  court  ruled 
him  to  be  sane  and  entitled  to  his  complete 
freedom  of  body  and  action.  But  for  years  he 
had  been  a  pseudofugitive  in  enforced  exile  and 
for  years  he  had  carried  the  stigma  of  having 
been  adjudged  insane.  This  thing  happened, 
incredible  as  it  sounds.  It  might  happen  again 
to-day  or  to-morrow.  It — " 

"Excuse  me  for  interrupting  your  flow  of 
eloquence,"  he  said  with  a  labored  politeness, 
"but  I  thought  you  came  here  to  discuss  the 
case  of  a  girl  named  Vinsolving,  not  the  case  of 
a  man  I  never  heard  of  before.  Now,  at  least 
I'm  not  going  to  discuss  generalities  with  you 
and  I'm  not  going  to  sit  here  and  join  with  you 
[192] 


IT      COULD      HAPPEN      AGAIN 

in  questioning  the  workings  of  the  law  either. 
The  laws  are  good  enough  for  me  as  they  stand. 
I'm  a  law-abiding  citizen,  not  one  of  these  red- 
eyed  socialistic  Bolsheviks  that  are  forever  try 
ing  to  tear  down  things.  I  believe  in  taking 
the  laws  as  I  find  them.  Let  well  enough  alone 
— that's  my  motto,  young  woman.  And  there 
are  a  whole  lot  more  like  me  in  this  country." 

"Pardon  me  for  breaking  in  on  you,  sir,"  she 
said,  fighting  hard  to  keep  her  temper,  "but 
neither  am  I  a  socialist  or  a  Bolshevik/' 

"Then  I  reckon  probably  you're  one  of  these 
rampant  suffragists.  Anyhow,  what's  the  use 
of  discussing  abstracts?  If  you  don't  like  the 
law  why  don't  you  have  it  changed?" 

"That's  one  of  the  very  things  I  hope  before 
long  to  try  to  do,"  she  replied. 

"It'll  keep  you  pretty  busy,"  he  responded 
with  a  sniff  of  profound  disapproval.  "But 
then  you  seem  to  have  a  lot  of  spare  time  on 
your  hands  to  spend  in  crusading  round.  Well, 
I  haven't.  I've  got  my  patients  to  see  to.  One 
of  'em  is  waiting  for  me  now — if  you'll  kindly 
excuse  me?" 

She  rose. 

"I'm  sorry,"  she  said  sincerely,  "if  either 
my  mission  or  my  language  has  irritated  you. 
I  seem  somehow  to  have  defeated  the  purpose 
that  brought  me — I  mean  a  faint  hope  that 
perhaps  somehow  I  might  help  that  girl.  Some 
thing  tells  me — call  it  intuition  or  sentimental- 

ity  or  what  you  will — but  something  tells  me  I 

_____ 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


must  keep  on  trying  to  help  her.  I  only  wish  I 
could  make  you  share  my  point  of  view." 

"Well,  you  can't.  Say,  see  here,  why  don't 
you  go  to  see  the  mother?  I  judge  she  might 
convince  you  that  you  are  on  the  wrong  tack, 
even  if  I  can't." 

"That's  exactly  what  1  mean  to  do,"  she  de 
clared. 

Something  inside  her  brain  gave  a  little  jump. 
It  was  curious  that  she  had  not  thought  of  it  be 
fore;  even  more  curious  that  his  labored  sarcasms 
had  been  required  to  set  her  on  this  new  trail. 

"Well,  at  that,  you'd  better  think  twice  be 
fore  you  go,"  he  retorted.  "She  was  a  mighty 
badly  broken-up  woman  the  last  time  I  saw 
her,  but  even  so  I  judge  she's  still  got  spunk 
enough  left  in  her  to  resent  having  an  unau 
thorized  and  uninvited  stranger  coming  about, 
seeking  to  pry  into  her  own  private  sorrow. 
But  it's  your  affair,  not  mine.  Besides,  judg 
ing  by  everything,  you  probably  don't  think 
my  advice  is  worth  much  anyhow." 

"Oh,  yes,  but  I  do— I  do  indeed!  And  I 
thank  you  for  it." 

"Don't  mention  it!    And  good  day!" 

The  slamming  of  the  inner  door  behind  him 
made  an  appropriate  exclamation  point  to  punc 
tuate  the  brevity  of  his  offended  and  indignant 
departure.  For  a  moment  she  felt  like  laugh 
ing  outright.  Then  she  felt  like  crying.  Then 
she  did  neither.  She  left. 

"Poor,  old  opinionated,  stupid  old,  conscien- 
[194] 


IT      COULD      HAPPEN      AGAIN 

tious  old  thing!"  she  was  saying  to  herself  as 
she  let  herself,  unattended,  out  of  the  front 
door.  "And  yet  I'll  wager  he  would  sit  up  all 
night  and  work  his  fingers  to  the  bone  trying 
to  save  a  life.  And  when  it  conies  to  serving 
poor  people  without  expecting  payment  or  even 
asking  for  it,  I  know  he  is  a  perfect  dear.  Be 
sides,  I  should  be  grateful  to  him — he  gave  me 
an  idea.  I  don't  know  where  he  got  it  from 
either — I  don't  believe  he  ever  had  so  very 
many  of  his  own." 

Again  the  handy  cop  in  the  communal  cen 
ter  set  her  upon  her  way.  But  when  she  came 
to  the  destination  she  sought — a  small,  rather 
shabby  cottage  standing  a  mile  or  so  westward 
from  the  middle  of  things  communal,  out  in  the 
fringes  of  the  village  where  outlying  homesteads 
tailed  away  into  avowed  farmsteads — the  house 
itself  was  closed  up  fast  and  tight.  The  shut 
ters  all  were  closely  drawn  and  against  the  gate 
post  was  fastened  a  newly  painted  sign  reading : 
"For  Sale  or  Rent.  Apply  to  Searle,  the  Up- 
to-Date  Real  Estate  Man,  Next  Door  to  Py 
thian  Hall." 

Not  quite  sure  she  had  stopped  at  the  right 
place,  Miss  Smith  hailed  a  man  pottering  in  a 
chrysanthemum  bed  in  the  yard  of  the  adjoin 
ing  cottage. 

"Mrs.  Vinsolving?"  he  said,  lifting  a  tousled 

head  above  his  palings.      "Yessum,  she  lives 

there — leastwise  she  did.    She  moved  away  only 

the  day  before  yesterday.     Sort  of  sudden,  I 

[195] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


think  it  must  have  been.  I  didn't  know  she 
was  going  till  she  was  gone."  He  grinned  in 
extenuation  of  the  unaccountable  failure  of  a 
small-town  man  to  acquaint  himself  with  all 
available  facts  regarding  a  neighbor's  private 
affairs.  "But  then  she  never  wasn't  much  of  a 
hand,  Mrs.  Vinsolving  wasn't,  for  mixing  with 
folks.  I'll  say  she  wasn't!" 

Back  she  turned  to  seek  out  Searle,  he  of  up- 
to-date  real  estate.  In  a  dingy  office  upstairs 
over  the  local  harness  store  a  lean  and  rangy 
gentleman  raised  a  brindled  beard  above  a  roll- 
top  desk  and  in  answer  to  her  first  question 
crisply  remarked,  "Can't  tell." 

"But  surely  if  she  put  her  property  in  your 
hands  for  disposal  she  must  have  given  you 
some  address  where  you  might  communicate 
with  her?"  pressed  Miss  Smith. 

"Oh,  yes,  she  done  that  all  right,  but  that 
ain't  the  question  you  ast  me  first.  You  ast 
me  if  I  could  tell  you  where  she  was — and  that 
I  can't  do." 

"I  see.  Then  I  presume  she  left  instructions 
with  you  not  to  give  her  present  whereabouts 
to  anyone?" 

"Well,  you  might  figger  it  out  that  way  and 
mebbe  not  so  far  wrong,"  said  the  cryptic  Mr. 
Searle.  "But  if  you  think  you'd  like  to  buy 
or  rent  her  place  I'm  fully  empowered  to  act. 
Got  the  keys  right  here  and  a  car  standing  out 
side — take  you  right  on  out  there  in  a  jiffy  if 

you  say  the  word." 

[196] 


IT      COULD      HAPPEN      AGAIN 

He  rose  up  and  followed  her  halfway  down 
the  steps,  plainly  torn  between  a  desire  to 
make  a  commission  and  a  regret  that  under  or 
ders  from  his  client  he  could  furnish  no  details 
regarding  her  late  movements. 

"If  you're  interested  in  any  other  piece  of 
property  in  this  vicinity—  '  were  the  last 
words  she  heard  floating  down  the  stair  well  as 
she  passed  out  upon  the  uneven  sidewalk. 

She  knew  exactly  what  she  meant  to  do  next. 
At  sight  of  her  badge,  as  shown  to  him  through 
his  wicketed  window  marked  "General  Deliv 
ery,"  the  village  postmaster  gave  her  a  number 
on  a  side  street  well  up-town  in  New  York,  add 
ing:  "Going  away,  Mrs.  Vinsolving  particu 
larly  asked  me  not  to  tell  anybody  where  her 
mail  was  to  be  sent  on  to.  Kind  of  a  secretive 
woman  anyhow,  she  was,  and  besides  she's  had 
some  very  pressing  trouble  come  on  her  lately. 
I  presume  you've  heard  something  about  that 
matter?" 

She  nodded. 

"I  suppose  now,"  went  on  the  postmaster, 
his  features  sharpening  with  curiosity,  "that 
the  Federal  authorities  ain't  looking  into  that 
particular  matter?  Not  that  I  care  to  know 
myself,  but  I  just  thought  it  wouldn't  be  any 
harm  to  ask." 

"No,"  said  Miss  Smith,  "I  merely  wanted 
to  see  her  on  a  personal  matter  and  I  only  let 
you  see  my  credential  in  order  to  learn  her  for- 

warding  address." 

[197] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 

Provided  with  the  requisite  information,  she 
figured  that  before  night  she  would  interview 
the  widow  or  know  good  reasons  why.  That 
the  other  woman  had  quitted  her  home  seem 
ingly  in  a  hurry  and  with  efforts  at  secrecy  gave 
zest  to  the  quest  and  added  a  trace  of  bepuz- 
zlement  to  it  too.  Even  so,  she  did  not  herself 
know  what  she  meant  to  say  to  the  woman 
when  she  had  found  her  in  her  present  abiding 
place  or  what  questions  she  would  ask.  Only 
she  knew  that  an  inner  prompting  stronger 
than  any  reasoned-out  process  drove  her  for 
ward  upon  her  vague  and  blinded  mission. 
Fool's  errand  it  might  be — probably  was — yet 
she  meant  to  see  it  through. 

But  she  had  not  reckoned  upon  the  contin 
gency  that  on  this  fine  October  forenoon,  for 
the  first  time  since  buying  his  new  touring  car, 
Mr.  Jake  Goebel,  shirt-waist  manufacturer  in 
a  small  way  in  Broome  Street  and  head  of  a 
family  in  a  large  way  in  West  One  Hundred 
and  Ninety-ninth  Street,  would  be  undertak 
ing  to  drive  the  said  car  unaided  and  untutored 
by  a  more  experienced  charioteer  on  a  trial 
spin  up  the  Albany  Post  Road,  accompanied — 
it  being  merely  a  five-passenger  car — only  by 
Mrs.  Rosa  Goebel,  wife  of  the  above,  six  little 
Goebels  of  assorted  sizes  and  ages  and  Mrs. 
Goebel' s  unmated  sister,  Miss  Freda  Hirsch- 
feld  of  Rivington  Street.  In  Getty  Square, 
Yonkers,  about  noontime  occurred  a  head-on 

collision,  the  subsequent  upshots  of  which  were 

___ 


IT      COULD      HAPPEN      AGAIN 

variously  that  divers  of  those  figuring  in  the 
accident  went  in  the  following  directions: 

Miss  Smith  to  a  doctor's  office  near  by  to 
have  a  sprained  wrist  bandaged;  and  thence 
home  in  a  hired  automobile. 

Her  runabout  to  a  Yonkers  repair  shop  and 
garage. 

Mr.  Goebel,  with  lamentations,  to  the  office 
of  an  attorney  making  a  specialty  of  handling 
damage  suits,  thence  home  by  train  with  the 
seven  members  of  his  family  party,  all  unin 
jured  as  to  their  limbs  and  members  but  in  a 
highly  distracted  state  nervously. 

Mr.  Goebel's  car  to  another  repair  shop  and 
garage. 

The  traffic  policeman  on  duty  in  Getty  Square 
to  the  station  house  to  make  a  report  of  the  fifth 
smash-up  personally  officered  by  him  within 
eight  hours — on  a  Sunday  his  casualty  list 
would  have  been  longer,  but  this  was  a  week 
day,  when  pleasure  travel  was  less  fraught  with 
highway  perilousness. 

It  so  happened  that  Mullinix  came  to  town 
from  Washington  next  morning  and,  following 
his  custom,  rang  up  his  unpaid  but  none  the 
less  valued  aid  to  inquire  whether  he  might 
come  a-calling.  No,  he  might  not,  Miss  Smith 
being  confined  to  her  room  with  cold  compresses 
on  her  injured  wrist,  but  he  might  render  a 
service  for  her  if  so  minded — and  he  was.  To 
"  [199] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


him,  then,  over  the  wire  Miss  Smith  stated  her 
requirements. 

"I  want  you  please  to  go  to  this  address" — 
giving  it — "and  see  whether  you  find  there  a 
Mrs.  Janet  Vinsolving,  a  widow.  I  rather  im 
agine  the  place  may  be  a  boarding  house, 
though  I  won't  be  sure  as  to  that.  It  will  not 
be  necessary  for  you  to  see  her  in  person;  in 
fact  I'd  rather  you  did  not.  What  I  want  you 
to  do  is  to  learn  whether  she  is  still  there,  and 
if  so  how  long  she  expects  to  stay  there,  and 
generally  anything  you  can  about  her  move 
ments.  She  went  there  only  three  days  ago 
and  inasmuch  as  she  has  a  reputation  in  her 
former  home  for  keeping  very  much  to  herself 
this  may  be  a  more  difficult  job  than  it  sounds. 
But  do  the  best  you  can,  won't  you,  and  then 
notify  me  of  the  results  by  telephone?  No,  it 
is  a  personal  affair — nothing  to  do  with  any  of 
our  official  undertakings.  I'll  tell  you  more 
about  it  when  I  see  you.  I  expect  I  shall  be 
able  to  receive  visitors  in  a  day  or  two;  just 
now  I  feel  a  bit  shaken  up  and  unstrung. 
That's  all,  and  thank  you  ever  so  much." 

Within  an  hour  he  had  her  on  the  telephone 
again. 

"Hello!"  she  said.  "Yes,  this  is  Miss  Smith. 
Oh,  it's  you,  is  it?  Well,  what  luck?  ...  Oh, 
so  it  was  a  boarding  house,  after  all.  .  .  .  And 
you  found  her  there?  .  .  .  No?  Then  where 
is  she?  .  .  .  What?  Where  did  you  say? 
Bellevue!  ...  I  knew  it,  I  knew  it,  something 
[200] 


IT      COULD      HAPPEN      AGAIN 

told  me!  .  .  .  No,  no,  never  mind  my  ravings! 
Go  on,  please,  go  on !  .  .  .  Yes,  all  right.  Now 
then,  listen  please:  You  jump  in  a  taxi  and 
get  here  to  my  apartments  as  soon  as  you  can. 
I'll  be  dressed  and  ready  when  you  arrive  to 
go  over  there  with  you.  .  .  .  What?  .  .  .  Oh, 
bother  the  doctor's  instructions.  It's  only  a 
sprain  anyhow  and  I  feel  perfectly  fit  by  now, 
honestly  I  do.  .  .  .  tell  you  I'd  get  up  out  of 
my  dying  bed  to  go.  ...  Yes,  indeed,  it  is 
important — much  more  important  than  you 
think!  Come  on  for  me,  I'll  be  waiting." 

When  fifteen  minutes  later  the  perplexed 
Mullinix  halted  a  taxi  at  the  Deansworth  Studio 
Building  she  was  at  the  curbing,  her  left  arm 
in  a  sling  and  her  eyes  ablaze  with  barely  con 
trolled  emotions.  Before  he  could  move  to  get 
out  and  help  her  in  she  was  already  in. 

"Bellevue  Hospital,  psychopathic  ward,"  he 
told  the  driver  as  she  climbed  nimbly  inside. 

As  the  taxi  started  she  turned  to  Mullinix, 
demanding:  "Now  tell  it  to  me  all  over  again. 
When  you  are  through,  then  I'll  explain  to  you 
why  I  am  so  interested." 

"Well,"  he  said,  "there  isn't  so  very  much 
to  tell.  The  address  you  gave  me  turned  out 
to  be  a  boarding  house  just  as  you  suspected 
it  might — a  second-rate  place  but  apparently 
highly  respectable,  kept  by  a  Mrs.  Sheehan. 
It's  been  under  the  same  management  at  the 
same  place  for  a  good  many  years.  It  wasn't 
very  much  trouble  for  me  to  find  out  what  you 


SUNDRY      ACCOUNTS 


wanted  to  know,  because  the  whole  place  was 
in  turmoil  after  what  had  happened  just  an 
hour  or  so  before  I  got  there.  And  when  it 
developed  that  I  had  come  to  inquire  about 
the  cause  of  all  the  excitement  every  old-lady 
boarder  in  the  house  wanted  to  tell  me  about 
it  all  at  the  same  time. 

"It  seems  that  three  days  ago  this  Mrs.  Vin- 
solving  applied  at  the  place  for  room  and  board. 
Mrs.  Sheehan  vaguely  remembered  her  as  hav 
ing  been  her  guest  for  a  short  time  ten  or  twelve 
years  ago.  At  that  time  she  was  with  her  hus 
band,  Colonel  Vinsolving,  who  it  appears  has 
since  died,  and  a  daughter  about  ten  years  or 
twelve  years  of  age — a  little  girl  with  red  hair, 
as  Mrs.  Sheehan  recalls.  This  time,  though, 
she  came  alone,  carrying  only  hand  baggage. 
Except  that  she  seemed  to  be  nervous  and 
rather  harassed  and  unhappy  looking,  there 
was  nothing  noticeably  unusual  about  her. 
Mrs.  Sheehan  took  her  in  willingly  enough. 

"She  went  straight  to  her  room  on  the  third 
floor  and  stayed  there,  having  her  meals  brought 
up  to  her.  But  this  morning  early  she  went  to 
the  landlady  and  begged  for  protection,  saying 
she  was  in  fear  of  her  life.  Mrs.  Sheehan  very 
naturally  inquired  to  know  what  was  up — and 
then  Mrs.  Vinsolving  told  her  this  story: 

"She  said  she  had  discovered  a  conspiracy 

to  murder  her,  headed  by — guess  who?     The 

late  Kaiser,  no  less!    She  said  that  the  Kaiser 

in  disguise  had  escaped  from  Holland,  leaving 

[202] 


IT      COULD      HAPPEN      AGAIN 

behind  him  in  his  recent  place  of  exile  over 
there  a  double  made  up  to  look  like  him,  and 
was  now  in  hiding  in  this  country  for  the  sole 
purpose  of  having  Mrs.  Vinsolving  assassinated 
in  revenge,  because  her  late  husband,  while  an 
officer  in  the  Army,  had  perfected  a  poison  gas 
deadlier  than  any  other  known,  which,  being 
kept  a  secret  by  this  Government  and  used 
against  the  German  army  in  the  war,  had 
brought  about  the  victory  for  our  side  and  led 
to  the  overthrow  of  the  Kaiser's  outfit. 

"She  went  on  to  say  she  had  run  away  from 
some  suburban  town  or  other  to  hide  in  New 
York  and  that  was  why  she  had  taken  refuge 
at  Mrs.  Sheehan's,  thinking  she  would  be  in 
safety.  But  now  she  knew  the  plotters  had 
tracked  her,  because  she  had  just  detected  that 
the  maid  who  had  been  bringing  up  her  meals 
to  her  was  really  a  German  agent,  and  acting 
under  orders  from  the  Kaiser  had  put  poison 
into  her  food.  All  of  which  naturally  surprised 
Mrs.  Sheehan  considerably,  especially  as  the 
accused  servant  happened  to  be  a  perfectly  re 
liable  Finnish  girl  who  has  been  working  for 
Mrs.  Sheehan  for  five  years  and  who  had  two 
brothers  in  the  Seventy-seventh  Division  over 
seas. 

"It  didn't  take  Mrs.  Sheehan  two  minutes — 
she  being  a  pretty  level-headed  person  evi 
dently — to  see  what  ailed  her  new  boarder.  She 
managed  to  get  Mrs.  Vinsolving  quieted  down 
and  get  her  back  again  into  her  room,  and  then 
[  203  ] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


she  called  in  the  policeman  on  the  post  and  in 
side  of  an  hour  the  woman  had  been  smuggled 
out  of  the  house  and  was  on  her  way  to  Belle- 
vue  in  an  ambulance  with  a  doctor  and  a  po 
liceman  guarding  her.  But  by  that  time,  of 
course,  the  news  had  leaked  out  among  the 
other  boarders  and  the  whole  place  was  begin 
ning  to  stew  with  excitement.  It  was  still 
stewing  when  I  got  there. 

"Well,  as  soon  as  you  told  me  over  the  tele 
phone  that  you  were  bent  and  determined  on 
going  to  Bellevue,  though  I  do  not  see  why 
you  should  be  in  such  a  hurry  about  it  and 
taking  chances  on  setting  up  an  inflammation 
in  your  injured  arm,  because  even  though  you 
do  know  the  poor  crazed  creature  you  can't  be 
of  any  help — " 

"I  don't  know  her.  I  never  saw  her  in  my 
life." 

"Then  why—" 

"That  part  can  wait.  I'll  explain  later. 
You  were  saying  that  as  soon  as  you  talked 
with  me  over  the  telephone  you  did  something. 
What  was  it?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  called  up  Doctor  Steele,  chief 
surgeon  in  the  psychopathic  ward,  who  hap 
pens  to  be  a  friend  of  mine  and  one  of  us  be 
sides" — he  tapped  the  badge  he  wore  under  his 
coat  lapel — "and  told  him  I  was  bringing  you 
down  to  see  this  woman,  and  he  volunteered 
some  information  of  the  case  in  advance  of 
your  coming.  I've  forgotten  just  what  he 


IT      COULD      HAPPEN      AGAIN 

called  the  form  of  insanity  which  has  seized  her 
— it's  a  jaw-breaking  Latin  name — but  any 
how,  he  said  his  preliminary  diagnosis  con 
vinced  him  that  it  must  have  been  coming  on 
her  for  some  time;  that  it  was  marked  by  de 
lusions  of  persecution  and  by  an  exaggerated 
ego,  causing  its  victims  to  imagine  themselves 
the  objects  of  plots  engineered  by  the  most  dis 
tinguished  personages,  such  as  rulers  and  high 
dignitaries;  and  that  while  in  this  state  a  man 
or  a  woman  suffering  from  this  particular  brand 
of  lunacy  was  apt  to  shift  his  or  her  suspicion 
from  one  person  to  another — first  perhaps  ac 
cusing  some  perfectly  harmless  and  well-mean 
ing  individual,  who  might  be  a  relative  or  a 
near  friend,  and  then  nearly  always  progress 
ing  to  the  point  in  his  or  her  madness  where 
the  charge  was  directed  against  some  famous 
character." 

"Did  you  hear  anywhere  any  mention  made 
of  a  daughter — the  red-haired  child  of  twelve 
years  ago?"  inquired  Miss  Smith. 

"To  be  sure  I  did,  but  I'd  forgotten  about 
her,"  said  Mullinix.  "Mrs.  Sheehan  told  me 
that  somewhere  in  her  excited  narrative  Mrs. 
Vinsolving  did  say  something  about  the  daugh 
ter.  As  nearly  as  I  can  recall,  she  told  Mrs. 
Sheehan  that  five  or  six  weeks  ago,  or  some 
such  matter,  her  daughter  had  tried  to  kill  her 
and  that  she  thought  then  the  daughter  had 
gone  mad,  but  that  now  she  knew  the  girl  had 

joined  the  Kaiser's  gang  for  pay.     I  made  a 

__ 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


mental  note  of  this  part  of  the  rigmarole  at  the 
time  Mrs.  Sheehan  was  repeating  it  to  me,  and 
then  it  slipped  my  mind.  But  now  putting 
that  yarn  alongside  of  what  Doctor  Steele  tells 
me  about  the  symptoms  of  the  disease,  I  see 
the  connection — first  the  daughter,  then  the 
strange  servant  girl  and  finally  the  Kaiser.  But 
say,  I  wonder  why  the  daughter  hasn't  been 
keeping  some  sort  of  a  guard  over  the  poor  de 
mented  creature?  What  can  she  have  been 
thinking  about  herself  to  let  her  mother  go 
running  foot-loose  round  the  country,  nursing 
these  changing  delusions?" 

"She  couldn't  very  well  help  herself,"  put  in 
Miss  Smith.  "The  daughter  is  in  an  asylum 
— put  there  five  weeks  ago  on  the  mother's 
complaint." 

"But  heavens  alive,  how  could  that  have 
happened?" 

"Very  easily — under  the  laws  of  this  state," 
she  answered  grimly.  Then  speaking  more 
quickly:  "I've  changed  my  mind  about  going 
to  Bellevue  with  you.  Please  tell  the  driver  to 
take  me  to  the  Grand  Central  Station.  I  don't 
know  what  train  I'm  going  to  catch,  except 
that  it's  the  next  one  leaving  on  the  Hudson 
River  Division  for  up  state.  You  go  on  then, 
please,  to  the  hospital  and  find  out  all  you  can 
about  this  case  and  call  me  on  the  long-dis 
tance  to-night — no,  that  won't  do  either.  I 
don't  know  where  I'll  be.  I  may  be  in  Peeks- 
kill  or  in  Albany — I  can't  say  which.  I  tell 
[206] 


IT      COULD      HAPPEN      AGAIN 

you — I'll  call  you  at  eight  o'clock;  that  will 
be  better. 

"No,  no!"  she  went  on  impetuously,  read 
ing  on  his  face  the  protest  he  meant  to  utter. 
"My  wrist  is  well  bandaged  and  giving  me  no 
pain.  I'm  thinking  now  of  what  a  poor  brave 
girl  had  on  both  her  wrists  when  last  I  saw  her 
and  of  what  she  must  have  been  enduring  since 
then.  I'll  explain  the  biggest  chapter  of  the 
story  to  you  on  the  way  over  before  you  drop 
me  at  the  station." 

At  the  Grand  Central  she  left  behind  a  thor 
oughly  astonished  gentleman.  He  was  clear 
on  some  points  which  had  been  puzzling  him 
from  time  to  time  during  this  exceedingly  busy 
morning,  but  still  much  mystified  to  make  out 
the  meaning  of  Miss  Smith's  farewell  remark 
as  he  put  her  aboard  her  train. 

"I  only  wish  one  thing,"  she  had  said.  "I 
only  wish  I  might  take  the  time  to  stop  at  the 
village  of  Pleasantdale  and  break  the  news  to 
a  certain  Doctor  McGlore  who  lives  there.  I 
trust  I  am  not  unduly  cattish,  but  I  dearly 
would  love  to  watch  the  expression  on  his  face 
when  he  heard  it.  I  think  I'd  do  it,  too,  if  1 
were  not  starting  on  the  most  imperative  er 
rand  that  ever  called  me  in  my  life." 

A  week  later,  to  the  day,  two  expected  visit 
ors  were  ushered  into  the  private  chamber  of 
the  governor  at  Albany — one  of  them  a  small, 
exceedingly  well-groomed  and  good-looking 

[207] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


woman  in  her  thirties,  and  one  a  slender 
pretty  girl  with  big  brown  eyes  and  wonderful 
auburn  hair. 

"Governor,"  said  Miss  Smith,  "I  want  the 
pleasure  of  introducing  to  you  the  gamest  girl 
in  the  whole  world — Margaret  Vinsolving." 

He  took  the  firm  young  hand  she  offered 
him.  "Miss  Vinsolving,"  he  said,  "in  the 
name  of  the  State  of  New  York  and  on  behalf 
of  it  I  ask  your  forgiveness  for  the  great  and 
cruel  wrong  which  unintentionally  was  done 
to  you." 

"And  I  want  to  thank  you  for  what  you 
have  done  for  me,  sir,"  she  answered  him 
simply. 

"Don't  thank  me,"  he  said.  "You  know 
the  one  to  thank.  If  I  had  not  set  the  machin 
ery  of  my  office  in  motion  on  your  behalf 
within  five  minutes  after  your  benefactress  here 
reached  me  the  other  day  I  should  have  de 
served  impeachment.  But  I  should  never  have 
lived  to  face  impeachment.  I'm  sure  the  slight 
est  sign  of  hesitation  on  my  part  would  have 
been  the  signal  for  your  advocate  to  brain  me 
with  my  own  inkstand."  His  face  sobered. 
"But,  my  child,  for  my  own  information  there 
are  some  things  I  want  cleared  up.  Why  in 
the  face  of  the  monstrous  charges  laid  against 
you  did  you  keep  silent — that  is  one  of  the 
things  I  want  to  know?" 

Before  answering,  the  girl  glanced  inquir 
ingly  at  her  companion. 

__ 


IT      COULD      HAPPEN      AGAIN 

"Tell  him,"  counseled  Miss  Smith. 

Steadily  the  girl  made  answer. 

"When  my  poor  mother  accused  me  of  try 
ing  to  kill  her  I  realized  for  the  first  time  that 
her  mind  had  become  affected.  No  one  else, 
though,  appeared  to  suspect  the  real  truth. 
Perhaps  this  was  because  she  seemed  so  nor 
mal  on  every  other  subject.  So  I  decided  to 
keep  silent.  I  thought  that  if  I  were  taken 
away  from  her  for  a  while  possibly  the  separa 
tion  and  with  it  the  lifting  of  the  imaginary 
fear  of  injury  at  my  hands,  which  had  upset 
her,  might  help  her  to  regain  her  reason  and 
no  outsider  be  ever  the  wiser  for  it.  I  am 
young  and  strong;  I  believed  I  could  bear  the 
imprisonment  without  serious  injury  to  me.  I 
believe  yet — for  her  sake — I  could  have  borne 
it.  And  I  knew — I  realized  what  would  hap 
pen  to  her  if  she  were  placed  in  such  surround 
ings  as  I  have  been  in  and  made  to  pass  through 
such  experiences  as  those  through  which  I  have 
passed.  I  felt  that  all  hope  of  a  cure  for  her 
would  then  be  gone  forever.  And  I  love  my 
mother."  She  faltered,  her  voice  trembling  a 
bit,  then  added:  "That  is  why  I  kept  silent, 


sir." 


"But,  my  dear  child,"  he  said,  "what  a 
wrong  thing  for  you  to  have  done.  It  was  a 
splendid,  chivalrous,  gallant  sacrifice,  but  it 
was  wrong.  And  if  you  don't  mind  I'd  like  to 
shake  hands  with  you  again." 

"You  see,  sir,  there  was  no  one  with  whom 
[209]  """" 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


I  might  advise  in  the  emergency  that  came 
upon  me  without  warning,"  she  explained.  "I 
had  no  confidante  except  my  mother,  and  she 
— through  madness — had  turned  against  me. 
I  had  no  friend  then — I  have  one  now,  though." 

And  she  went  to  Miss  Smith  and  put  her 
head  on  the  elder  woman's  shoulder. 

With  her  arms  about  the  girl,  Miss  Smith 
addressed  the  governor. 

"We  are  going  away  a  while  together  for  a 
rest,"  she  told  him.  "We  both  need  it.  And 
when  we  come  back  she  is  going  to  join  me  in 
my  work.  Some  day  Margaret  will  be  a  bet 
ter  interior  decorator  than  her  teacher  can  ever 
hope  to  be." 

"Then  from  now  on,  so  far  as  you  two  are 
concerned,  this  ghastly  thing  should  be  only 
an  unhappy  dream  which  you'll  strive  to  for 
get,  I'm  sure,"  he  said.  "It's  all  over  and 
done  with,  isn't  it?" 

"Over  and  done  with  for  her — yes,"  said 
Miss  Smith.  "But  how  about  your  duty  as 
governor?  How  about  my  duty  as  a  citizen? 
Shouldn't  we  each  of  us,  you  in  your  big  way 
and  I  in  my  small  way,  work  to  bring  about  a 
reform  in  the  statutes  under  which  such  errors 
are  possible?  Think,  governor,  of  what  hap 
pened  to  this  child!  It  may  happen  again  to 
day  or  to-morrow  to  some  other  equally  inno 
cent  sufferer.  It  might  happen  to  any  one  of 
us — to  me  or  to  someone  dear  to  you." 

"Miss  Smith,"  he  stated,  "if  ever  it  hap- 
[210] 


IT      COULD      HAPPEN      AGAIN 

pens  to  you  I  shall  take  the  witness  stand  on 
your  account  and  testify  to  two  things:  First, 
that  you  are  the  sanest  human  being  in  this 
state;  and  second,  that  you  certainly  do  know 
how  to  play  a  hunch  when  you  get  one.  If 
I  had  your  intuition,  plus  my  ambition,  I 
wouldn't  be  governor — I'd  running  be  for  presi 
dent.  And  I'd  win  out  too!" 


[211] 


CHAPTER  V 
THE    RAVELIN'    WOLF 


WHEN  the  draft  came  to  our  town  as 
it  came  to  all  towns  it  enmeshed 
Jeff  Poindexter,  who  to  look  at 
him  might  be  any  age  between 
twenty-one  and  forty-one.  Jeff  had  a  com 
plexion  admirably  adapted  for  hiding  the  wear 
and  tear  of  carking  years  and  as  for  those  tell 
tale  wrinkles  which  betray  care  he  had  none, 
seeing  that  care  rarely  abode  with  him  for 
longer  than  twenty-four  hours  on  a  stretch. 
Did  worry  knock  at  the  front  door  Jeff  had  a 
way  of  excusing  himself  out  of  the  back  win 
dow.  But  this  dread  thing  they  called  a  draft 
was  a  worry  which  just  opened  the  door  and 
walked  right  in — and  outside  the  window  stood 
a  jealous  Government,  all  organized  to  start  a 
rookus  if  anybody  so  much  as  stepped  side 
ways. 

Jeff  had  no  ambition  to  engage  in  the  jar 
and  crash  of  actual  combat;     neither  did  the 

idea  of  serving  in  a  labor  battalion  overseas 

__ 


WOLF 


appeal  to  one  of  his  habits.  The  uniform  had 
its  lure,  to  be  sure,  but  the  responsibilities 
presaged  by  the  putting  on  of  the  uniform  be 
guiled  him  not  a  whipstitch.  Anyhow,  his  ways 
were  the  ways  of  peace.  As  a  diplomat  he  had 
indubitable  gifts;  as  a  warrior  he  felt  that  he 
would  be  out  of  his  proper  element.  So  when 
answering  a  summons  which  was  not  to  be  dis 
regarded  Jeff  appeared  before  the  draft  board 
he  was  not  noticeably  happy. 

"Unmarried,  eh?"  inquired  his  chief  inquis 
itor. 

"Yas,  suh — I  means,  naw,  suh,"  stated  Jeff. 
"I  ain't  never  been  much  of  a  hand  fur  mar- 
ryin'  round." 

He  forced  an  ingratiating  smile.  The  smile 
fell  as  seed  on  barren  soil — fell  and  died  there. 

"Mother  and  father?  Either  one  or  both  of 
them  living?" 

Never  had  Jeff  looked  more  the  orphan  than 
as  he  stood  there  confessing  himself  one.  He 
fumbled  his  hat  in  his  hands. 

"No  dependents  at  all  then,  I  take  it?" 

"Yas,  suh,  dey  shorely  is,"  answered  Jeff 
smartly,  hope  rekindling  within  him. 

"Well,  who  is  it  that  you  help  support — if 
it's  anybody?" 

"Hit's  Jedge  Priest — tha's  who.  Jedge,  he 
jes'  natchelly  couldn't  git  'long  noways  'thout 
me  lookin'  after  him,  suh.  The  older  he  git  the 
more  it  seem  lak  he  leans  heavy  on  me." 

"Well,  Judge  Priest  may  have  to  lean  on 
[  213  ] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


himself  for  a  while.  Uncle  Sam  needs  every 
able-bodied  man  he  can  get  these  times  and 
you  look  to  be  as  strong  as  a  mule.  Here, 
take  this  card  and  go  on  through  that  door 
yonder  to  the  second  room  down  the  hall  and 
let  Doctor  Dismukes  look  you  over." 

Jeff  cheered  up  slightly.  He  knew  Doctor 
Dismukes — knew  him  mighty  well.  In  Doctor 
Dismukes'  hands  he  would  be  in  the  hands  of  a 
friend.  Beyond  question  the  doctor  would  un 
derstand  the  situation  as  this  strange  and  most 
unsympathetic  white  man  undoubtedly  did  not. 

But  Doctor  Dismukes,  all  snap  and  smart 
ness,  went  over  him  as  though  he  had  never 
seen  him  before  in  all  his  life.  If  Jeff  had  been 
a  horse  for  sale  and  the  doctor  a  professional 
horse  coper,  scarcely  could  the  examination  have 
been  carried  forward  with  a  more  businesslike 
dispatch. 

"Jeff,"  said  the  doctor  when  he  had  finished 
and  the  other  was  rearranging  his  wardrobe, 
"you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself  for  being 
so  healthy.  Take  your  teeth  now — your  teeth 
are  splendid.  I  only  wish  I  had  a  set  like  'em." 

"Is  dey?"  said  Jeff  despondently,  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life  regretting  his  unblemished 
ivory. 

"They  certainly  are.  You  wouldn't  need  a 
gun,  not  with  those  teeth  you  wouldn't — you 
could  just  naturally  bite  a  German  in  two." 

Jeff  shivered.  The  very  suggestion  was  ab- 
horrent  to  his  nature. 

_____ 


THE    RAVELIN'    WOLF 


"Please  suh,  don't— don't  talk  lak  that,"  he 
entreated.  "I  ain't  cravin'  to  bite  nobody 
a-tall,  'specially  'tis  Germans.  Live  an'  let 
live — tha's  my  sayin'." 

"Yep,"  went  on  the  doctor,  prolonging  the 
agony  for  the  victim,  "your  teeth  are  perfect 
and  your  lungs  are  sound,  your  heart  action  is 
splendid  and  I  know  something  about  your  ap 
petite  myself,  having  seen  you  eat.  Black  boy, 
listen  to  me!  In  every  respect  you  are  abso 
lutely  qualified  physically  to  make  a  regular 
man-eating  bearcat  of  a  soldier" — he  paused — 
"in  every  respect  excepting  one — no,  two." 

If  a  drowning  man  clutching  for  a  straw 
might  be  imagined  as  coincidentally  asking  a 
question,  it  is  highly  probable  he  would  ask  it 
in  the  tone  now  used  by  Jeff. 

"Meanin' — meanin'  w'ich,  suh?" 

"I  mean  your  feet.  You've  got  flat  feet, 
Jeff — you've  got  the  flattest  feet  I  ever  saw. 
I  don't  understand  it  either.  So  far  as  I've 
been  able  to  observe  you've  spent  the  greater 
part  of  your  life  sitting  down.  Somebody  must 
have  hit  you  on  the  head  with  an  ax  when  you 
were  standing  on  a  plowshare  and  broke  your 
arches  down." 

It  was  an  old  joke,  but  it  fitted  the  present 
case,  and  Jeff,  not  to  be  outdone  in  politeness, 
laughed  louder  at  it  than  its  maker  did.  In 
deed  Jeff  felt  he  had  reason  to  laugh;  a  great 
load  was  lifting  from  his  soul. 

"Jeff,"  went  on  the  doctor,  "deeply  though 
[215] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


it  may  grieve  both  of  us,  it  nevertheless  is  my 
painful  duty  to  inform  you  that  you  have  two 
perfectly  good  exemptions  from  military  serv 
ice — a  right  one  and  a  left  one.  Now  grab 
your  hat  and  get  out  of  here." 

"Boss,"  cried  Jeff,  "Ise  gone.  Exemptions, 
tek  me  away  frum  yere!" 

So  while  many  others  went  away  to  fight  or 
to  learn  how  to  fight,  as  the  case  might  be, 
Jeff  stayed  behind  and  did  his  bit  by  remaining 
steadfastly  cheerful.  Never  before,  sartorially 
speaking,  had  he  cut  so  splendid  a  figure  as 
now  when  such  numbers  of  young  white  gentle 
men  of  his  acquaintance  were  putting  aside 
civilian  garb  to  put  on  khaki.  Jeff  had  one  of 
those  adaptable  figures.  The  garments  to  which 
he  fell  heir  might  never  have  fitted  their  original 
owner,  but  always  they  would  fit  Jeff.  Gor 
geous  in  slightly  worn  but  carefully  refurbished 
raiment,  he  figured  in  the  wartime  activities  of 
the  colored  population  and  in  ostensibly  helpful 
capacities  figured  in  some  of  the  activities  of 
the  white  folks  too. 

Going  among  his  own  set  his  frequent  com 
panion  was  that  straw-colored  light  of  his  social 
hours,  Ophelia  Stubblefield.  It  helped  to  rec 
oncile  Jeff  to  the  rigors  of  the  period  of  en 
forced  rationing  as  he  reflected  that  the  same 
issues  and  causes  which  made  lump  sugar  a 
rarity  and  fat  meat  a  scarcity  had  rid  him  of 
his  more  dangerous  competition  in  the  quarter 
where  his  affections  centered.  Particularly  on 
[216]  ^ 


THE    RAVELIN'    WOLF 


one  account  did  he  feel  reconciled.  A  spirit  of 
the  most  soothful  resignation  filled  him  when 
he  gave  thought  to  the  moral  certainty  that 
the  most  formidable  and  fearsome  of  his  rivals, 
that  bloody-minded  bravo,  Smooth  Crumbaugh, 
would  daunt  him  never  again  with  threats 
of  articular  dismemberment  with  a  new- 
honed  razor.  For  Smooth  Crumbaugh  was 
gone  and  gone  for  good.  First  the  draft  had 
carried  him  away  and  then  the  pneumonia  had 
carried  him  off.  War  had  its  compensations 
after  all. 

Wearing  Ophelia  upon  one  arm  and  wearing 
in  the  crook  of  the  other  a  high  hat  which  once 
had  been  the  property  of  a  young  man  now 
bossing  an  infantry  battalion  in  the  muddiest 
part  of  France,  Jeff  appeared  prominently  in 
the  Armistice  celebration  at  the  First  Ward 
Colored  Baptist  Church.  Still  so  accoutered — 
Ophelia  on  his  one  hand  and  the  high  hat  held 
in  proper  salute  against  his  breast — he  served 
upon  the  official  reception  committee  headed 
by  the  Rev.  Potiphar  Grasty  and  by  Prof. 
Rutherford  B.  H.  Champers,  principal  of  the 
Colored  High  School,  which  greeted  the  first 
returning  squad  of  service  men  of  color. 

Home-comers  who  had  been  clear  across  the 
ocean  brought  back  with  them  almost  unbeliev 
able  but  none  the  less  fascinating  accounts  of 
life  and  customs  in  foreign  parts.  The  tales 
these  traveled  ones  had  to  tell  were  eagerly  lis- 
tened  to  and  as  eagerly  passed  along,  dowered 
[217]  "" 


SUNDRY      ACCOUNTS 

at  each  time  of  retelling  with  prodigal  enlarge 
ments  and  amplifications  the  most  generous. 

A  ferment  of  discontent  began  to  stir  under 
the  surface  of  things;  a  sort  of  inarticulate  re 
bellion  against  existing  conditions,  which  pres 
ently  manifested  itself  in  small  irritations  at 
various  points  of  contact  with  the  white  race. 
It  was  nothing  tangible  as  yet,  nothing  upon 
which  one  might  put  a  hand  or  cap  with  a 
word  of  comprehensive  description.  Indeed  it 
had  been  working  for  weeks  like  a  yeast  in  the 
minds  of  sundry  black  folk  before  their  Cau 
casian  neighbors  began  to  sense  it  at  all,  and 
for  this  there  was  a  reason  easily  understand 
able  by  anyone  born  and  reared  in  any  sizable 
town  in  any  one  of  the  older  states  lying  below 
Mason  and  Dixon's  Line.  For  in  each  such 
community  there  are  two  separate  and  dis 
tinct  worlds — a  black  one  and  a  white  one — 
interrelated  by  necessities  of  civic  coordination 
and  in  an  economic  sense  measurably  depend 
ent  one  upon  the  other,  and  yet  in  many  other 
aspects  as  far  apart  as  the  North  Pole  is  from 
the  South. 

Regarding  what  the  white  world  is  feeling 
and  thinking  and  saying,  the  lesser  black  world 
that  is  set  down  within  it  is  nearly  always  bet 
ter  informed  than  is  the  other  and  larger  group 
touching  on  new  movements  and  growing  sen 
timents  amongst  the  darker-skinned  factors. 
Into  the  white  man's  house,  serving  in  this  or 

that  domestic  capacity,  goes  the  negro  as  an 

__ 


THE    RAVELIN'    WOLF 


observant  witness  to  the  moods  and  emotions 
of  his  or  her  employer  and  bringing  away  an 
understanding  of  the  family  complexities  and 
the  current  trend  of  opinion  as  it  shapes  itself 
beneath  that  roof. 

But  the  white  man,  generally  speaking,  views 
the  negro's  private  life  only  from  the  outside, 
and  if  he  be  a  Southern-born  white  man,  wise 
in  his  generation,  seeks  to  look  no  further,  for 
surface  garrulity  and  surface  exuberance  do 
not  deceive  him,  but  serve  only  to  make  him 
realize  all  the  more  clearly  that  he  is  dealing 
with  members  of  what  at  heart  is  one  of  the 
most  secretive  and  sensitive  of  all  the  breeds 
of  men.  But  since  this  started  out  to  be  the 
chronicle  of  an  episode  largely  relating  to  Jeff 
Poindexter  and  one  other  and  not  a  psycholog 
ical  study  of  actions  and  reactions  as  between 
the  two  most  numerous  races  in  this  republic, 
it  is  perhaps  as  well  that  we  should  get  on 
with  our  narrative. 

If  the  leaven  of  unrest,  vague  and  formless 
as  it  was  at  the  outset,  properly  might  be  said 
to  date  from  the  time  of  the  return  of  divers 
black  veterans,  it  took  on  shape  and  substance 
after  the  advent  of  one  Dr.  J.  Talbott  Duvall, 
an  individual  engaging  in  manner,  and  in  lan 
guage,  dress  and  deportment  fascinating  be 
yond  degree;  likewise  an  organizer  by  profes 
sion  and  a  charmer  of  the  opposite  sex  by  reason 
of  qualifications  both  natural  and  acquired. 

A  doctor  he  was,  as  witness  the  handle  to 
[219] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


his  name,  and  yet  a  doctor  of  any  known  vari 
ety  he  was  not.  Confessedly  he  was  no  doctor 
of  medicine,  though  his  speech  dripped  gor 
geous  ear-filling  Latin  words  which  sounded  as 
though  they  might  be  the  names  of  difficult 
and  sinister  diseases;  nor  was  he  doctor  of 
divinity,  though  speedily  he  proved  himself  to 
be  at  home  in  pulpits.  He  was  not  a  horse 
doctor  or  a  corn  doctor  or  a  conjure  doctor  or 
a  root-and-herb  doctor  or  a  healer  by  faith  or 
the  laying  on  of  hands.  His  title,  it  seemed, 
was  his  by  virtue  of  a  degree  conferred  upon 
him  by  a  college — a  white  man's  college — some 
where  in  the  North.  His  accent  was  that  of  a 
traveled  cosmopolite  superimposed  upon  the 
speech  of  a  place  away  off  somewhere  called 
the  West  Indies.  He  had  money  and  he  spent 
it;  he  had  a  wardrobe  of  distinction  and  he 
wore  it;  he  had  a  gift  for  argumentation  and 
he  exercised  it;  he  had  a  way  with  the  ladies 
and  he  used  it.  His  coming  had  created  a  social 
furor;  his  subsequent  ministrations  amounted 
to  what  for  lack  of  a  better  word  is  commonly 
called  a  sensation. 

If  there  were  those  who  from  motives,  let  us 
say,  of  envy  looked  with  the  jaundiced  eye  of 
disfavor  upon  his  mounting  popularity  and  his 
constantly  widening  scope  of  influence  they 
mainly  kept  their  own  counsel  or  at  least  re 
frained  from  voicing  their  private  prejudices  in 
public  places.  One  gets  fewer  bumps  traveling 

with  the  crowd  than  against  it. 

[  220] 


THE    RAVELIN'    WOLF 


Even  so  bold  a  spirit  and  customarily  so  out 
spoken  a  speaker  as  Aunt  Dilsey  Turner,  Judge 
Priest's  black  cook  of  many  years'  incumbency, 
saw  fit  somewhat  to  dissemble  on  the  occasion 
of  a  call  paid  by  Sister  Eldora  Menifee,  who 
came  dressed  to  kill  and  inspired  by  the  zeal 
of  the  new  convert  to  win  yet  other  converts. 
Entering  by  way  of  the  alley  gate  one  fine  fore 
noon,  Sister  Eldora  found  Aunt  Dilsey  sitting  in 
the  kitchen  doorway  hulling  out  a  mess  of  late 
green  peas  newly  picked  from  the  house  garden. 

"Sist'  Turner,"  began  the  visitor,  "I  hopes 
I  ain't  disturbin'  you  by  runnin'  in  on  you  this 


mawnin'.' 


"Honey,"  said  Aunt  Dilsey,  "you're  jes*  ez 
welcome  ez  day  is  frum  night.  Lemme  fetch 
you  a  cheer  out  yere  on  the  gallery."  And  she 
made  as  if  to  heave  her  vast  comfortable  bulk 
upright. 

"No'm,  set  right  where  you  is,"  begged  Sis 
ter  Menifee.  "I  ain't  got  only  jes'  a  few  min 
utes  to  stay.  Things  is  mighty  pressin'  with 
me.  I  got  quite  a  number  of  my  lady  frien's  to 
see  to-day  an'  you  happens  to  be  the  fust  one 
on  de  list." 

"Is  tha'  so?"  inquired  Aunt  Dilsey.  Her 
tone  was  cordiality  itself,  but  one  less  carried 
away  by  the  enthusiasm  of  the  mission  which 
had  brought  her  than  Sister  Eldora  Menifee 
was  might  have  caught  a  latent  gleam  of  hos 
tility  in  the  elder  woman's  eye.  "Well,  go  on, 

Ise  lis'enin'." 

"  C  221  ] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


"Well,  Sist'  Turner,  ef  you's  beared  'bout  de 
work  I  been  doin'  lately  I  reckin  mebbe  you 
kin  guess  whut  brung  me  to  yore  do'.  I  is  so- 
licitin'  you  fur  yore  fellership  ez  a  reg'lar  mem 
ber  of  de  ladies'  auxiliary  of  de  new  s'ciety 
w'ich  Doct'  J.  Talbott  Duvall  is  got  up." 

"Meanin'  perzactly  w'ich  s'ciety?  Dis  yere 
Doct'  Duvall  'pears  to  be  so  busy  gittin'  up 
fust  one  thing  an'  then  'nother  seems  lak  I 
ain't  been  able  to  keep  track  of  his  doin's, 
'count  of  my  bein'  so  slow  gittin'  round  on  my 
feet  by  reason  of  de  rheumatism." 

"Meanin'  de  Shinin'  Star  Cullid  Uplift  and 
Progress  League — dat's  de  principalest  activity 
in  w'ich  he's  now  engaged.  De  dues  is  one 
dollar  down  on  'nitiation  an'  twenty  cents  a 
week  an'- 

"Wait  jes'  one  minute,  Sist'  Menifee,  ef  you 
please.  'Fore  we  gits  any  furder  'long  answer 
me  dis  one  question  Ise  fixin'  to  ast  you — do 
dis  yere  new  lodge  perpose  to  fune'lize  de 
daid?" 

"We  ain't  tuck  up  dat  point  yit;  doubtless 
we'll  come  to  de  plans  fur  dat  part  later.  Fur 
de  time  bein'  de  work  is  jes'  to  form  de  ladies' 
auxiliary  an'  git  de  main  objec's  set  fo'th." 

"Lis'en,  chile.  Me,  I  don't  aim  never  so  long 
as  I  lives  an'  keeps  my  reason  to  jine  no  lodge 
w'ich  don't  start  out  fust  thing  by  fune'lizin' 
de  daid.  Ise  thinkin'  now  of  de  case  of  dat 
pore  shif'less  Sist'  Clarabelle  Hardin  dat  used 
to  live  out  yere  on  Plunkett's  Hill.  She  up  an' 
[222  ] 


THE      RAVELIN7      WOLF 


jined  one  of  dese  newfandangle'  lodges  w'ich 
didn't  have  nothin'  to  it  but  a  fancy  name  an' 
a  fancy  strange  nigger  man  runnin'  it,  an'  right 
on  top  of  dat  she  up  an'  died  'thout  a  cent  to 
her  back.  An'  you  know  whut  happen  den? 
Well,  I'm  gwine  tell  you.  Dat  pore  chile  laid 
round  de  house  daid  fur  gwine  on  three  days 
an'  den  she  jes'  natchelly  had  to  git  out  to  de 
cemetery  de  bes'  way  she  could.  Not  fur  me, 
honey,  not  fur  me.  Dey  got  to  have  de  money 
in  de  bank  waitin'  an'  ready  to  bury  de  fus' 
member  dat  passes  frum  dis  life  before  dey  gits 
a  cent  of  mine." 

"But  dis  yere  lodge  is  gwine  have  a  more 
'portant  puppose  'en  jes'  to  fune'lize  de  daid," 
protected  Sister  Eldora.  "We  aims  to  do  some- 
thin'  fur  de  livin'  whilst  yet  dey's  still  alive. 
Curious  you  ain't  tuck  notice  of  de  signs  of  de 
times  ez  dey's  been  expounded  'mongst  de 
people  by  Doct'  Duvall.  He  sho'  kin  'splain 
things  in  a  way  to  mek  you  a  true  believer." 
The  advocate  of  the  new  order  of  things  sank 
her  voice  to  a  discreet  half  whisper.  "Sist' 
Turner,  we  aims  at  gittin'  mo'  of  de  rights  dat's 
due  us.  We  aims  to  see  dat  de  pore  an'  de 
lowly  an'  de  downtrodden-on  is  purtected  in 
dey  rights.  We  aims — " 

"Num'mine  whut  you  aims  at — de  question 
is,  is  you  gwine  be  able  hit  whar  you  aims? 
An'  lemme  tell  you  somethin'  more,  Sist'  El 
dora  Menifee.  I  ain't  needin'  no  ladies'  auxili- 
ary  to  tell  me  whut  my  rights  is.  Neither  I 
[223  ] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


ain't  needin'  to  pay  out  no  twenty  cents  a 
week  to  find  out  neither.  Wen  it  comes  to 
dat,  all  de  ladies'  auxiliary  w'ich  I  needs  is  jes' 
me,  myse'f.  I  knows  good  an'  well  whut  my 
rights  is  already  an'  Ise  gwine  have  'em,  too, 
or  somebody '11  sho'  git  busted  plum  wide  open. 
Mind  you,  I  ain't  sayin'  nothin'  'ginst  dis  new 
man  nur  'ginst  dem  w'ich  chooses  to  follow 
'long  after  his  teachin's.  Ise  jes'  sayin'  dat  so 
fur  ez  my  jinin'  in  wid  dis  yere  lodge  is  con 
cern'  you's  wastin'  yore  breath.  Better  pass 
along,  honey,  to  de  nex'  one  on  dat  list  of 
your'n,  'thout  you's  a  mind  to  stay  yere  an' 
watch  me  dish  up  Jedge  Priest's  vittles  fur 


im." 


"Mebbe  if  Doct'  Duvall  wuz  to  come  hisse'f 
an'  mek  manifest  to  you  de  high  pupposes — " 
began  Sister  Eldora.  But  Aunt  Dilsey  cut  her 
off  short. 

7  v  "Wouldn't  mek  no  diffe'nce  ef  he  come  eighty 
times  a  day  an'  twice  ez  offen  on  Sunday. 
Anyway,  I  reckins  my  day  fur  jinin'  things  is 
done  over." 

There  was  a  dead  weight  of  finality  in  her 
words.  She  rose  heavily.  As  Sister  Menifee 
departed  Aunt  Dilsey  became  aware  of  the 
presence  of  Jeff  Poindexter.  He  was  emerging 
from  behind  the  door. 

"Been  hidin'  inside  dat  kitchen  lis'enin',  I 
s'pose?"  demanded  Aunt  Dilsey. 

"Couldn't  help  frum  hearin',"  admitted  Jeff. 
It  was  evident  that  he  was  not  deeply  grieved 
[  224]  " 


THE      RAVELIN         WOLF 


over  the  failure  of  Sister  Menifee  to  make  head 
way  against  Aunt  Dilsey 's  opposition.  "At  the 
last  you  suttinly  give  dat  woman  her  marchin' 
orders,  didn't  you,  Aunt  Dilsey?" 

"An'  sech  wuz  my  intention  frum  de  start 
off,"  she  confided.  "Minute  she  come  th'ough 
dat  back  gate  yonder  I  knowed  whut  she  wuz 
comin'  fur  an'  I  wuz  set  an'  ready  wid  de 
words  waitin'  on  de  tip  of  my  tongue." 

"Me,  I  don't  fancy  dat  Duvall  neither," 
stated  Jeff.  "I  ain't  been  sayin'  much  'bout 
him  one  way  or  'nother  but  I  been  doin'  a  heap 
o'  steddyin'." 

"Yas,  I  knows  all  'bout  dat  too,"  snapped 
Aunt  Dilsey.  "I  got  eyes  in  my  haid.  You 
los'  yore  taste  fur  dis  yere  big-talkin',  fine- 
lookin'  man  jes  ez  soon  ez  he  started  sparkin' 
round  dat  tore-down  limb  of  a  'Phelia  Stubble- 
field.  Whut  ails  you  is  you  is  jealous;  hadn't 
been  fur  dat  I  lay  you'd  be  runnin'  round  wid 
yore  tongue  hangin'  out  suckin'  in  ever'thing 
he  sez  ez  de  gospil  truth  same  ez  a  lot  of  dese 
other  weak-minded  ones  is  doin'.  Oh,  I  know 
you,  boy,  frum  ze  ground  up!  An'  furthermo' 
I  knows  dis  Doct'  Duvall  likewise  also,  even  ef 
I  ain't  never  seen  him  but  oncet  or  twicet  sence 
fust  he  come  yere  to  dis  town  all  dress'  up  lak 
a  persidin'  elder.  I  don't  lak  his  looks  an'  I 
don't  lak  his  ways,  jedgin'  by  whut  I  hears  of 
'em  frum  dis  one  an'  dat  one,  an'  most  in  special 
I  don't  lak  his  color.  He  ain't  clear  brown  lak 
whut  I  is,  an'  he  ain't  muddy  black  lak  whut 
[225] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


you  is,  neither  he  ain't  high  yaller  lak  some  is. 
To  me  he  looks  most  of  all  lak  de  ground  side 
of  a  nickel  wahtermelon.  An'  in  all  de  goin'  on 
sixty-two  yeahs  of  my  life  I  ain't  never  seen  no 
pusson  callin'  they  selves  Affikins  dat  had  dat 
kind  of  a  sickly  greenish-yaller-whitish  com 
plexion  but  whut  trouble  come  pourin'  frum 
'em  sooner  or  later,  an'  most  gin'rally  sooner, 
lak  manna  pourin'  from  de  gourd  of  de  Prophet 
Jonah.  Dat  man  is  a  ravelin'  wolf,  ef  ever  I 


seen  one." 


"Whut  kind  of  a  wolf  did  you  say,  Aunt  Dil- 
sey?"  asked  Jeff. 

"Consult  de  Scriptures  an'  you  won't  be  so 
ignunt,"  she  answered  crushingly.  "Consult 
de  Scriptures  an'  you'll  read  whar  de  ravelin' 
wolf  come  down  on  de  fold,  an'  whut  he  done 
to  de  fold  after  he'd  done  come  down  on  it 
wuz  more'n  aplenty.  An'  now,  boy,  you  git 
on  out  of  my  kitchen  an'  go  on  'bout  yore  busi 
ness — ef  you's  got  any  business,  w'ich  I  doubts. 
I  ain't  got  no  mo'  time  to  waste  on  you  den 
whut  I  is  on  dat  flighty-haided  Eldora  Menifee, 
a-traipsin'  round  frum  one  back  do'  to  'nother 
with  her  talk  'bout  ladies'  auxiliaries  an'  gittin' 
yo  rights  fur  a  dollah  down  an'  twenty  cents  a 
week." 

Jeff  faded  away.  It  was  comforting  in  a  way 
to  find  Aunt  Dilsey  on  his  side,  even  though 
her  manner  rather  indicated  she  resented  the 
fact  that  he  was  on  hers.  A  few  evenings  later 
he  found  out  something  else.  He  was  made  to 
[226] 


THE    RAVELIN'    WOLF 


know  that  in  another  and  entirely  unsuspected 
quarter  the  endeavors  of  the  diligently  crusad 
ing  and  organizing  Duvall  person  had  roused 
more  than  a  passing  curiosity. 

One  evening,  supper  being  over,  Judge  Priest 
lingered  on  in  his  low-ceiled  dining  room  smok 
ing  his  corncob  pipe  while  Jeff  cleared  away  the 
supper  dishes.  It  was  the  same  high-voiced  de 
liberately  ungrammatical  Judge  Priest  that  the 
kindly  reader  may  recall — somewhat  older  than 
at  last  accounts,  somewhat  slower  in  his  step — 
but  then  he  never  had  been  given  to  fast  move 
ments — and  perhaps  just  a  trifle  balder. 

"Wuz  dey  anythin'  else  you  wanted,  jedge, 
'fore  I  locks  up  the  back  of  the  house  an'  lights 
out?"  Jeff  inquired  when  the  table  had  been 
reset  for  breakfast. 

"Yes,  I  think  mebbe  there  wuz,"  drawled 
the  old  man.  He  hesitated  a  moment  almost 
as  though  at  a  loss  for  a  proper  phrasing  of 
the  thing  he  meant  to  say  next.  Then:  "Jeff, 
what's  come  over  your  race  in  this  town  here 
lately?" 

"Meanin'  w'ich,  suh?  "  countered  Jeff.  "Me, 
I  ain't  notice  nothin'  out  of  the  way — nothin' 
particular." 

"Haven't  you?  Well,  I  think  I  have.  Jeff, 
I  don't  want  to  be  put  in  the  position  of  pryin' 
into  the  private  and  the  personal  affairs  of 
other  folks,  reguardless  of  color.  I  have  to  do 
enough  of  that  sort  of  thing  in  my  official  ca- 

pacity  when  I'm  settin'  in  judgment  up  at  the 

7_l 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 

big  cote  house.  But  unless  I  can  get  some  con 
fidential  information  frum  you  I  don't  know 
where  else  I'm  likely  to  git  it,  and  at  the  same 
time  I  sort  of  feel  as  ef  I  should  try  to  get  hold 
of  it  somewheres  or  other  ef  it's  humanly  pos 
sible." 

"Yas,  suh." 

"Now  heretofore  in  this  community  the  two 
races — white  and  black — have  got  along  purty 
tolerably  well  together.  We  managed  to  put 
up  with  your  shortcomings  and  you  managed 
to  put  up  with  ours,  which  at  times  may  have 
been  considerable  of  a  strain  on  both  sides. 
Still  we've  done  it.  But  it  seems  to  me  here 
of  late  there's  been  a  kind  of  an  undercurrent 
of  discontent  stirrin'  amongst  your  people — and 
no  logical  reason  fur  it  either,  so  fur  as  I  kin 
see.  Yet  there  it  is. 

"There  wuz  that  rumpus  two-three  weeks 
ago  down  in  Market  Square.  A  little  more  and 
that  affair  could  have  growed  into  a  first-class 
race  riot.  And  here  last  Saturday  night  fol 
lowed  that  mix-up  out  by  the  Union  Depot 
when  Policeman  Gip  Futtrell  got  all  carved  up 
and  two  darkies  got  purty  extensively  shot. 
And  night  before  last  the  trouble  that  occurred 
on  that  Belt  Line  car  out  in  Holland ville;  that 
looked  mighty  threatenin',  too,  fur  a  while. 
And  in  between  all  these  more  serious  things  a 
lot  of  little  unpleasantnesses  keep  croppin'  up 
* — always  takin'  the  form  of  friction  between 

whites  and  blacks. 

[228]  


THE      RAVELIN         WOLF 


"One  of  these  here  occurrences  might  be 
what  you'd  call  an  accident  and  two  of  them 
in  rapid  succession  a  coincidence,  but  it  looks 
to  me  like  now  it's  gittin'  to  be  a  habit.  It's 
leadin'  to  bad  blood  and  what's  worse  it's  lead- 
in'  to  a  lot  of  spilt  blood  and  our  city  gittin'  a 
bad  name  and  all  that. 

"And  I  know  the  respectable  black  folks  in 
this  town  don't  want  that  to  happen  any  more 
than  the  respectable  white  people  do. 

"Now  then,  Jeff,  whut's  at  the  bottom  of  all 
this — I  mean  on  your  side  of  the  color  line? 
Who's  stirrin'  up  old  grudges  and  kindlin'  new 
ones?  I've  sort  of  got  my  own  private  suspi 
cions,  but  I'd  like  to  see  ef  your  ideas  run  along 
with  mine.  Got  any  suggestions  as  to  the  un 
derlying  causes  of  this  ill  feelin'  that's  sprung 
up  so  lately  and  without  any  good  reason  for  it 
either  so  fur  ez  I  kin  see?" 

Now  ordinarily  Jeff  would  have  held  firmly 
to  the  doctrine  that  white  folks  should  tend  to 
their  business  and  let  black  folks  tend  to  theirs. 
For  all  his  loyalty  to  his  master,  a  certain  race 
consciousness  in  him  would  have  bade  him  keep 
hands  off  and  tongue  locked.  But  here  a 
strong  personal  prejudice  operated  to  steer  Jeff 
away  from  what  otherwise  would  have  been 
his  customary  course. 

"Jedge,"  he  said,  drawing  a  pace  or  two 

nearer  his  employer,  "did  you  ever  hear  tell  of 

a  pale-yaller  party  w'ich  calls  hisse'f  Doct'  J. 

Talbott  Duvall  dat  come  yere  a  few  weeks  ago?" 

[229] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


"Ah,  hah!"  said  the  judge  as  though  satis 
fied  of  the  correctness  of  a  prior  conclusion.  "I 
thought  possibly  my  mind  might  be  on  the 
right  track.  Yes,  I've  heard  of  him  and  I've 
seen  him.  Whut  of  him?" 

"Jedge,  I  trusts  you  won't  tell  nobody  else 
whut  I'm  tellin'  you,  but  dat's  sho'  de  one 
dat's  at  the  bottom  of  the  whole  mess.  He's  the 
one  dat's  plantin'  the  pizen.  Me,  I  ain't  had  no 
truck  wid  him  myse'f,  but  dat  ain't  sayin'  I 
don't  know  whut  he's  doin',  case  I  do.  He 
calls  hisse'f  a  organizer." 

"Ah,  hah!    And  whut  is  he  organizin'?" 

"Trouble,  jedge.  Dat's  whut — trouble  fur  a 
lot  of  folks.  Jedge,  fo'  we  goes  any  further 
lemme  ast  you  a  coupler  questions,  please,  suh. 
Is  it  true  dat  over  dere  in  some  of  dem  Youro- 
pean  countries  black  folks  is  jes'  the  same  ez 
white  folks,  ef  not  more  so?" 

Choosing  his  words,  the  old  man  elucidated 
his  understanding  of  the  social  order  as  it  pre 
vailed  in  certain  geographical  divisions  and  sub 
divisions  of  the  continent  of  Europe. 

"Yas,  suh,  thanky,  suh,"  said  Jeff  when  the 
judge  had  finished.  "I  reckin  mebbe  one  main 
trouble  over  dere  is,  jedge,  dat  dem  folks  ain't 
been  raised  de  way  you  an'  me  is." 

"Jeff,"  said  the  judge,  "I'm  inclined  to  think 
probably  you're  right." 

"Yas,  suh.    Now  den,  jedge,  here's  one  mo' 
thing.     Is  it  true  dat  in  all  dem  f urrin  coun 
tries— Russiaaii/G^rinaiiyan' 
[  230] 


THE    RAVELIN'    WOLF 


— dat  the  po'  people,  w'ite  or  black  or  whutever 
dey  color  is,  is  fixin'  to  rise  up  in  they  might 
an'  tek  the  money  an'  de  gover'mint  an'  de  fine 
houses  an'  the  cream  of  ever'thing  away  frum 
dem  dat's  had  it  all  'long?" 

Again  the  judge  expounded  at  length,  touch 
ing  both  upon  upheavals  abroad  and  on  dis 
cords  nearer  home.  Next  it  was  Jeff's  turn  to 
make  disclosures  having  a  purely  local  applica 
tion  and  he  made  them.  Listening  intently, 
Judge  Priest  puckered  his  bald  brow  into  fur 
rows  of  perplexity. 

"Jeff,"  he  said  finally,  "I'm  much  obliged  to 
you  fur  tellin'  me  all  this.  It  backs  up  what 
I'd  sort  of  figgered  out  all  by  myself.  The 
whole  world  appears  to  be  engaged  in  standin' 
on  its  esteemed  head  at  this  writin'.  I  reckin 
when  old  Mister  Kaiser  turned  loose  the  war 
he  didn't  stop  to  think  that  mebbe  the  war 
was  only  one  of  a  whole  crop  of  evils  he  wuz 
lettin'  out  of  his  box  of  tricks.  Or  mebbe  he 
didn't  care — bein'  the  kind  of  a  person  he  wuz. 
And  I'm  prone  to  believe  also  that  when  the 
Germans  stopped  fightin'  us  with  guns  they 
begun  fightin'  us  with  other  weapons  almost  as 
dangersome  to  our  peace  of  mind  and  future 
well-bein'.  Different  parts  of  this  country  are 
in  quite  a  swivet — agitators  preachin'  bad  doc 
trine — some  of  'em  drawin'  pay  from  secret 
enemies  across  the  sea  fur  preachin'  it,  too,  I 
figger — and  a  lot  of  highly  disagreeable  dis 
turbances  croppin'  up  here  and  there.  But  I 
[231]  " 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


was  hopin'  that  mebbe  our  little  corner  of  the 
world  wouldn't  be  pestered.  But  now  it  looks 
ez  ef  we  weren't  goin'  to  escape  our  share  of 
the  trouble." 

"  Jedge,"  asked  Jeff,  "ain't  they  some  way 
dis  Duvall  pusson  could  be  fetched  up  in  cote? 
I  suttinly  would  admire  to  see  dat  yaller  man 
wearin'  a  striped  suit  of  clothes." 
..  "Well,  Jeff,"  said  the  judge,  "I  doubt  either 
the  legality  or  the  propriety  of  such  a  step,  ef 
you  get  what  I  mean.  From  whut  you  tell  me 
I  don't  see  where  he's  really  broken  any  laws. 
He's  got  a  right  to  come  here  and  organize  his 
societies  and  lodges  and  things  so  long  as  he 
don't  actually  come  out  in  the  open  and  preach 
violence.  He's  got  a  perfect  right  under  the 
law  to  organize  this  here  new  drill  company 
you  speak  about.  I  sometimes  think  that  ef 
all  the  young  men  in  this  country  had  been  re 
quired  to  do  a  little  more  drillin'  in  years  gone 
by  we'd  be  f eelin'  somewhat  safer  to-day.  Any 
way,  it's  a  mighty  great  mistake  sometimes  to 
make  a  martyr  out  of  a  rascal.  Puttin'  him  in 
jail,  unless  you're  absolutely  certain  that  a  jail 
is  where  he  properly  belongs,  gives  him  a 
chance  to  raise  the  cry  of  persecution  and  gives 
his  followers  an  excuse  to  cut  loose  and  smash 
up  things.  You  git  my  drift,  don't  you?" 

"Yas,  suh,  think  I  do.    Well  den,  suh,  ef  I 

wuz  runnin'   dis  town   seems  to  me  I'd  git 

a  crowd  of  strong-minded  gen'elmen  together 

some  evenin'  in  the  dark  of  the  moon  an'  let  'em 

[232] 


THE      RAVELIN         WOLF 


call  on  dis  yere  slick-haided  half-strainer  an' 
invite  him  to  tek  his  foot  in  his  hand  an'  mar- 
vil  further.  Ef  one  of  'em  wuz  totin'  a  rope 
in  his  hand  sorter  keerless  lak  it  might  help. 
Ropes  is  powerful  influential.  An'  the  sight  of 
tar  an'  feathers  meks  a  mighty  strong  argu 
ment,  too,  Ise  beared  tell." 

"Jeff,"  said  the  judge,  "I'm  astonished  that 
you'd  even  suggest  sech  a  thing!  Mob  law  is 
worse  even  than  no  law  at  all.  Besides,"  he 
added — and  now  there  was  a  small  twinkle  in 
his  eye  to  offset  to  a  degree  the  severity  in  his 
tones — "besides,  the  feller  that  was  bein'  called 
on  by  the  committee  might  decline  to  take  the 
hint  and  then  purty  soon  you  might  have  an 
other  self-made  martyr  on  your  hands.  But  ef 
he  ran  away  on  his  own  hook  now — ef  some 
thing  came  up  that  made  him  go  of  his  own 
accord  and  go  fast  and  cut  a  sort  of  a  cheap 
figure  in  the  eyes  of  his  deluded  followers  whilst 
he  was  goin' — that'd  be  a  different  thing  alto 
gether.  Start  a  crowd  of  folks,  white  or  black 
or  brown,  to  laughin'  at  a  feller  and  they'll  quit 
believin'  in  him.  Worshipin'  a  false  god  and 
laughin'  at  him  at  the  same  time  never  has 
been  successfully  done  yit." 

He  sucked  his  pipe.  "Jeff,"  he  resumed, 
"what  do  you  know,  ef  anything,  about  the 
past  career  and  movements  of  this  here  J.  Tal- 
bottEt  Cetery?" 

Jeff  knew  a  good  deal  —  at  second  hand. 
Didn't  the  object  of  his  deepest  aversions  per- 
[  233  ] 


SUNDRY      ACCOUNTS 


sist  in  almost  nightly  calls  upon  the  object 
of  his  deepest  affections?  Paying  such  calls, 
didn't  the  enemy  spend  hours  —  hours  upon 
hours  doubtless — pouring  into  Ophelia's  ear  ac 
counts  of  his  recent  triumphs  as  an  uplifter  in 
other  towns  and  other  states?  Didn't  the  fas 
cinated  and  flattered  Ophelia  in  turn  recount 
these  tales  to  one  whose  opportunities  for  trav 
eling  and  seeing  the  great  world  had  been  more 
circumscribed?  Had  not  Jeff  writhed  in  jealous 
misery  the  while  he  heard  the  annals  of  a  rival's 
successes?  So  Jeff  made  prompt  answer. 

"Yas,  suh,  I  suttinly  does.  Ise  heared  a 
right  smart  'bout  dis  yere  DuvalPs  past  life 
frum — frum  somebody.  'Cordin'  to  the  way  he 
norrates  it,  he  wuz  in  Nashville,  Tennessee 
'fore  he  come  yere;  an'  'fore  dat  in  Mobile, 
Alabama;  an'  'fore  dat  in  Little  Rock,  Arkan- 
saw.  Seem  lak  w'en  he  ain't  organizin'  or 
speechifyin'  he  ain't  got  nothin'  better  to  do 
den  run  round  amongst  young  cullid  gals  brag- 
gin'  'bout  the  places  he's  been  an'  the  things  he 
done  whilst  in  'em." 

Jeff  spoke  with  an  enhanced  bitterness. 

"I  see.  Then  I  take  it  ef  he  spends  so  much 
time  in  seekin'  out  female  society  that  he's  not 
a  married  man?" 

"So  he  say — so  he  say!  But,  Jedge  Priest, 
ef  ever  I  looked  on  the  spittin-image  of  a  nat- 
chel-born  marryin'  nigger,  dat  ver'  same  Du- 
vall  is  de  one." 

Judge  Priest  seemed  not  to  have  heard  this 


THE      RAVELIN         WOLF 


last.  He  sat  for  a  bit  apparently  studying  the 
tips  of  his  square-toed,  low-quarter  shoes. 

"Jeff,"  he  said  when  he  had  given  his  feet  a 
long  half  minute  of  seeming  consideration,  "I 
would  like  to  know  some  facts  about  the  pre 
vious  life  and  general  history  of  the  individual 
we've  been  discussin' — I  really  would.  In  fact 
my  curiosity  is  sech  that  I  might  even  be  will- 
in*  to  spend  a  little  money  out  of  my  own 
pocket,  ef  needs  be,  in  order  to  find  out.  So  I 
was  jest  wonderin'  whether  you  wouldn't  like 
to  take  a  little  trip,  with  all  expenses  paid,  and 
tour  round  through  some  of  our  sister  states 
and  make  a  few  private  inquiries.  It  occurs  to 
me  that  everything  considered  you  might  make 
a  better  job  of  it  as  an  amateur  investigator 
than  a  regular  professional  detective  of  a  dif 
ferent  color  might.  Do  you  know  where  by 
any  chance  you  could  git  hold  of  a  good  pho 
tograph  of  this  here  individual — I  mean  with 
out  lettin'  him  know  anything  about  it?" 

"  Yas,  suh,  dat  I  does,"  stated  Jeff  briskly. 

The  conference  between  master  and  man 
lasted  perhaps  fifteen  minutes  longer  before 
Jeff  was  dismissed  for  the  night.  Mainly  it 
dealt  with  ways,  means  and  purposes.  Upon 
the  heels  of  it,  within  forty-eight  hours  two 
events — seemingly  nowise  related  or  bearing 
one  upon  the  other — occurred.  An  ornately 
framed  photograph  lately  bestowed  as  a  #ift 
and  treasured  as  a  trophy  of  sentimental  value 
mysteriously  vanished  from  the  mantelpiece  of 
[235] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


the  front  room  of  Ophelia  Stubblefield's  pa's 
house;  and  Jefferson  Poindexter,  carrying  a 
new  and  very  shiny  suitcase,  unostentatiously 
left  town  late  at  night  on  a  southbound  train. 

Darktown  in  Nashville  knew  him  for  a  brief 
space  as  a  visiting  nobleman  with  money  in  all 
his  pockets  and  apparently  nothing  of  impor 
tance  to  do  except  to  spend  it  in  divertisements 
suitable  to  the  social  instincts  of  a  capitalist  of 
leisure.  In  Mobile  at  the  Elite  Colored  Beauty 
Parlors  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  tendered 
his  finger  nails  for  ministrations  at  the  hands 
of  a  dashing  chocolate-ice-cream-colored  mani 
curist  and  spent  the  remainder  of  that  same 
afternoon  in  a  sunny  spot,  glistening  pleasantly. 

If  in  both  these  cities  and  likewise  in  Little 
Rock,  which  next  he  favored  with  his  presence, 
he  made  himself  known  to  brothers  of  his  par 
ticular  lodge — the  Afro-American  Order  of  Su 
preme  Kings  of  the  Universe  has  a  large  and  a 
widely  distributed  membership — and  if  under 
the  sacred  pledge  of  secrecy  which  only  may  be 
broken  on  pain  of  mutilation  and  death  by  tor 
ture  he — with  the  aid  of  these  fraternal  allies 
of  his  —  conducted  certain  discreet  inquiries, 
why,  that  was  his  own  private  business.  As 
suredly,  so  far  as  surface  indications  counted, 
he  appeared  to  have  no  business  other  than 
pleasurable  pursuits.  From  Little  Rock  he 
turned  his  face  southeastward,  landing  at  Ma- 
con,  Georgia,  where  he  lingered  on  for  upward 
of  a  week,  breaking  his  visit  only  by  a  day's 
[236] 


THE      RAVELIN         WOLF 


side  trip  to  a  smaller  town  south  of  Macon. 
Altogether  Jeff  was  an  absentee  from  his  favor 
ite  haunts  back  home  for  the  greater  part  of  a 
month. 

He  reached  town  on  a  Monday.  Betimes 
Tuesday  morning,  inspired  outwardly  by  the 
zeal  of  one  just  won  over  from  skepticism  to 
the  immediate  advisability  of  following  a  sapi 
ent  course,  he  sought  opportunity  to  become  a 
member  in  good  standing  of  the  Shining  Star 
Colored  Uplift  and  Progress  League,  a  simple 
ceremony  and  a  brief,  since  it  involved  merely 
the  signing  of  one's  name  on  Dotted  Line  A  of 
a  printed  form  card  and  the  paying  of  a  dollar 
into  the  hand  of  Dr.  J.  Talbott  Duvall.  On 
Tuesday  evening  the  league  met  in  stated  ses 
sion  at  Hillman's  Hall  on  Yazoo  Street  and 
Jeff  was  early  on  hand,  visibly  enthusiastic  and 
professedly  ready  to  do  all  within  his  power  to 
further  the  aims  and  intents  of  the  organiza 
tion.  As  a  brand  snatched  from  the  burning 
he  was  elevated  before  the  eyes  of  the  assem 
blage  so  that  all  might  see  him  and  mark  his 
mien  of  newborn  fervor,  for  Doctor  Duvall, 
following  his  custom,  called  to  places  upon  the 
platform  the  proselytes  enrolled  since  the  pre 
vious  meeting,  to  the  end  that  older  members 
might  observe  the  physical  proof  of  a  steady 
and  a  healthful  growth. 

So  there  sat  Jefferson  in  the  very  front  row 
of  wooden  chairs,  where  all  might  behold  him 
and  he  might  behold  all  and  sundry.     About 
[237] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


him  were  his  recent  fellow  converts.  Almost 
directly  behind  him  was  a  door  giving  upon  a 
side  entrance;  there  was  another  door  serving 
similar  purposes  upon  the  opposite  side  of  the 
stage.  Beyond  him  to  the  left  in  the  center  of 
the  stage  were  grouped  the  honorary  officers  of 
the  league,  flanking  and  supporting  their  chief. 

Being  an  honorary  officer  carried  with  it,  as 
the  title  might  imply,  honor  and  prominence 
second  only  to  that  enjoyed  by  the  president- 
organizer,  but  it  entailed  no  great  weight  of  re 
sponsibility,  since  practically  all  the  actual 
work  of  the  league  had  from  the  very  outset 
been  generously  assumed  by  Doctor  Duvall. 
It  was  he  who  cared  for  the  funds,  he  who  han 
dled  disbursements,  he  who  conducted  the  pro 
ceedings,  he  who  made  the  principal  addresses 
on  meeting  nights,  he  who  between  meetings 
labored  without  cessation  to  spread  educational 
propaganda.  That  he  found  time  for  all  these 
purposeful  endeavors  and  yet  crowded  in  such 
frequent  opportunity  for  mingling  socially 
among  the  lambs  of  his  flock — notably  the  ewe 
lambs — was  but  evidence,  accumulating  daily, 
of  his  genius  for  leadership  and  direction. 

This  night  the  session  opened  with  a  prayer 
—by  Doctor  Duvall;  an  eloquent  and  a  mov 
ing  prayer  indeed,  its  sonorous  periods  set  off 
and  adorned  with  noble  big  words  and  quota 
tions  in  foreign  tongues.  The  prayer  would  be 
followed,  it  had  been  announced,  by  the  read- 
ing  of  the  minutes  of  the  previous  session,  after 
[238  ]  


THE    RAVELIN'    WOLF 


which  Doctor  Duvall  would  speak  at  length 
with  particular  reference  to  things  lately  ac 
complished  and  the  even  more  important  things 
in  contemplation  for  the  near  future. 

Standing  for  the  prayer,  Jeff  could  look  out 
over  what  a  master  of  words  before  now  has 
fitly  described  as  a  sea  of  upturned  faces — faces 
black,  brown  and  yellow.  Had  he  been  minded 
to  give  thought  to  details  he  might  have  noted 
how  at  every  polysyllabic  outburst  from  the 
inspired  invocationist  old  Uncle  Ike  Faun- 
tleroy,  himself  accounted  a  powerful  hand  at 
wrestling  with  sinners  in  prayer,  was  visibly 
jolted  by  admiration;  might,  if  he  had  had  a 
head  for  figures,  have  kept  count  of  the  hearty 
amens  with  which  Sister  Eldora  Menifee  punc 
tuated  each  pause  when  Doctor  Duvall  was 
taking  a  fresh  breath;  might  have  cast  a  side 
glance  upon  Ophelia  Stubblefield  in  a  new  and 
most  becoming  hat  with  ostrich  plumage 
grandly  surmounting  it.  But  under  the  hand 
which  he  held  reverently  cupped  over  his  brow 
Jeff's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  a  certain  focal  point, 
—to  wit,  the  door  of  the  main  entrance  at  the 
length  of  the  hall  from  him.  It  was  as  though 
Jeff  waited  for  something  or  somebody  he  was 
expecting. 

Nor  did  he  have  so  very  long  to  wait.  The 
prayer  was  done  and  well  done.  In  its  wake, 
so  to  speak,  there  spouted  up  from  every  side 
veritable  geysers  of  hallelujahs  and  amens.  The 
honorary  secretary,  Brother  Lemuel  Diuguid, 
[239] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 

smelling  grandly  of  expensive  hair  ointments — 
Brother  Diuguid  being  by  calling  a  head  barber 
— stood  up  to  read  the  minutes  of  the  preced 
ing  regular  session,  and  having  read  them  sat 
down  again.  A  friendly  and  flattering  bustle 
of  anticipation  filled  the  body  of  the  hall  as 
Doctor  Duvall  rose  and  moved  one  pace  for 
ward  and — raising  a  hand  for  silence — began 
to  speak.  But  he  had  no  more  than  begun,  had 
progressed  no  farther  than  part  way  of  his 
first  smoothly  launched  sentence,  when  he  was 
made  to  break  off  by  an  unseemly  interruption 
at  the  rear.  The  honorary  grand  inner  guard 
on  duty  at  the  far  street  door,  after  a  brief  and 
unsuccessful  struggle  with  unseen  forces,  was 
observed  to  be  shoved  violently  aside  from  his 
post.  Bursting  in  together  there  entered  two 
strangers — a  tall  yellow  woman  and  a  short 
black  man,  and  both  of  them  of  a  most  grim 
and  determined  aspect.  He  moved  fast,  this 
man,  but  even  so  his  companion  moved  faster 
still.  She  was  three  paces  ahead  of  him  when, 
bulging  impetuously  past  those  who  sprang  into 
the  center  aisle  as  though  to  halt  her  onward 
rush — all  others  present  being  likewise  up  on 
their  feet — she  came  to  a  halt  near  the  middle 
of  the  hall  and,  glaring  about  her  defiantly, 
just  double-dog-dared  any  present  to  lay  so 
much  as  the  weight  of  one  detaining  finger 
upon  her.  There  was  something  about  her  cal 
culated  to  daunt  the  most  willing  of  volunteer 
opponents,  and  so  while  those  at  a  safe  dis- 
[240]  " 


THE    RAVELIN'    WOLF 


tance  demanded  the  ejection  of  the  intruders, 
those  nearer  her  hesitated. 

"Th'ow  me  out?"  she  whooped,  echoing  the 
words  of  outraged  and  startled  members  of  the 
Shining  Star.  "I'd  lak  to  see  de  one  dat's 
gwine  try  it !  An'  'fo'  anybody  talk  'bout  th'ow- 
in'  out  lettum  heah  me  whilst  I  sez  my  say!" 

Towering  until  she  seemed  to  increase  in 
stature  by  inches,  she  aimed  a  long  and  bony 
finger  dead  ahead. 

"Ax  dat  slinky  yaller  man  up  yonder  on  dat 
flatfo'm  ef  he  gwine  give  de  order  to  th'ow  me 
out!"  she  clarioned  in  a  voice  which  rose  to  a 
compelling  shriek.  "But  fust  off  ax  him  whut 
he  meant — marryin'  me  in  Mobile,  Alabama, 
an'  den  runnin'  'way  frum  his  lawful  wedded 
wife  under  cover  of  de  night!  Ax  him — dat's 
all,  ax  him!" 

"An'  ax  him  one  thing  mo'!"  It  was  the 
voice  of  her  short  companion  rising  above  the 
tumult.  "Ax  him  whut  he  done  wid  de  funds 
of  de  s'ciety  he  'stablished  at  Little  Rock,  Ar- 
kansaw,  all  of  w'ich  he  absconded  wid  dis  last 
spring!" 

As  though  the  same  set  of  muscles  controlled 
every  neck  the  heads  of  all  swung  about,  their 
eyes  following  where  the  accusers  pointed,  their 
ears  twitching  for  the  expected  blast  of  denial 
and  denunciation  which  would  wither  these 
mad  and  scandalous  detractors  in  their  tracks. 

Alas  and  alackaday!  With  his  splendid  fig- 
ure  suddenly  all  diminished  and  shrunken,  with 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


distress  writ  large  and  plain  upon  his  features, 
the  popular  idol  was  step  by  step  flinching 
backward  from  the  edge  of  the  platform — was 
step  by  step  inching,  edging  toward  the  side 
door  in  the  right-hand  wall. 

And  in  this  same  instant  the  stunned  assem 
blage  realized  that  Jeff  Poindexter,  by  nimble 
maneuvering,  had  thrust  himself  between  the 
retreating  figure  and  the  exit,  and  Jeff  was  cry 
ing  out :  "Not  dis  way  out,  Doct'  Duvall.  Not 
dis  way !  The  one  you  married  down  below  Ma- 
con  is  waitin'  fur  you  behin'  dis  do'!" 

The  doctor  stopped  in  midflight  and  swung 
about  and  his  eye  fell  upon  the  right-hand  door 
and  he  moved  a  yard  or  two  in  that  direction; 
but  no  more  than  a  yard  or  two,  for  again  Jeff 
spoke  in  warning,  halting  him  short: 

"Not  dat  way  neither!  The  one  frum  dat 
other  town  whar  you  uster  live  is  waitin'  out 
side  dat  do' — wid  a  pistil!  Seems  lak  you's 
entirely  s'rounded  by  wives  dis  evenin'!" 

To  the  verge  of  the  footlights  the  beset  man 
darted,  and  like  a  desperate  swimmer  plunging 
from  a  foundering  bark  into  a  stormy  sea  he 
leaped  far  out  and  projected  himself,  a  living 
catapult,  along  the  middle  aisle.  He  struck 
the  tall  yellow  woman  as  the  irresistible  force 
strikes  the  supposedly  immovable  object  of  the 
scientists'  age-old  riddle,  but  on  his  side  was 
impetus  and  on  hers  surprise.  She  was  bowled 
over  flat  and  her  hands,  clutching  as  she  went 
down,  closed,  but  on  empty  and  unresisting  air. 


THE    RAVELIN'    WOLF 


Literally  he  hurdled  over  the  stocky  form  of 
the  little  black  man  behind  her,  but  as  the 
other  flitted  by  him  the  fists  of  the  stranger 
knotted  firmly  into  the  skirts  of  its  wearer's 
long  black  frock  coat  and  held  on.  There  was 
a  rending,  tearing  sound  and  as  the  back  breadth 
of  the  garment  ripped  bodily  away  from  the 
waistband  there  flew  forth  from  the  capsized 
tail  pockets  a  veritable  cloudburst  of  cur 
rency — floating,  fluttering  green  and  yellow 
bills  and  with  them  pattering  showers  of  dol 
lars  and  halves  and  dimes  and  quarters  and 
nickels. 

That  canny  instinct  which  had  led  the  fugi 
tive  apostle  of  the  uplift  to  hide  the  collected 
funds  of  the  league  upon  his  person  rather  than 
trust  to  banks  and  strong  boxes  was  to  prove 
his  ruination  financially  but  his  salvation  phys 
ically.  While  those  who  had  believed  in  him, 
now  forgetting  all  else,  scrambled  for  the  scat 
tered  money — their  money — he  fled  out  of  the 
unguarded  door  and  was  instantly  gone  into 
the  shielding  night — a  sorry  shape  in  a  bob- 
tailed  garment. 

At  a  somewhat  later  hour  Judge  Priest  in  his 
living  room  was  receiving  from  Jefferson  Poin- 
dexter  a  much  lengthier  and  more  elaborated 
account  of  the  main  occurrences  of  the  evening 
at  Hillman's  Hall  than  has  here  been  presented. 
Speaking  as  he  did  in  the  dual  role  of  spectator 
and  of  an  actuating  force  in  the  events  of  that 

crowded  and  exciting  night,  Jeff  spared  no  de- 

__ 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 

tails.  He  had  come  to  the  big  scene  of  his  nar 
rative  when  his  master  interrupted  him: 

"Hold  on  a  minute,  Jeff!  I  don't  know  ez  I 
get  the  straight  of  it  all  yit.  I  rather  gathered 
frum  whut  you  told  me  yesterday  when  you 
landed  back  home  and  made  your  report  that 
you'd  only  been  able  to  dig  up  one  certain- 
sure  wife  of  this  feller's — the  one  that  came 
along  with  you  and  that  little  Arkansaw  darky. 
You  didn't  say  anything  then  about  bein'  able 
to  prove  he  wuz  a  bigamist." 

"Huh,  jedge,  I  didn't  have  to  prove  it!  Dat 
man  wuz  more'n  jes'  a  plain  bigamist.  He 
sho'  wuz  a  trigamist,  an'  ef  the  full  truth  wuz 
knowed  I  'spects  he  wuz  a  quadrupler  at  the 
very  least.  He  proved  it  hisself — way  he  act' 
w'en  the  big  'splosion  come." 

"But  the  two  women  you  told  him  were 
waitin'  behind  those  side  doors  for  him — how 
about  them?" 

"Law,  jedge,  dey  wuzn't  dere — neither  one 
of  'em  wuzn't.  Jes'  lak  I  told  you  yistiddy,  I 
couldn't  find  only  jest  one  woman  dat  nigger'd 
married  an'  run  off  frum,  an'  her  I  fetched  'long 
wid  me.  But  lak  I  also  told  you,  I  got  kind  of 
traces  of  one  dat  uster  live  below  Macon  but 
w'ich  is  now  vanished,  an'  ever'whar  else  I 
went  whar  he'd  lived  befo'  he  come  yere  de 
signs  wuz  manifold  dat  he  wuz  a  natchel-born 
marryin'  fool,  jes'  lak  I  'spicioned  fust  time 
ever  I  see  him.  So  w'en  he  started  fur  dat  fust 
do'  I  taken  a  chancet  on  him  an'  w'en  I  seen 
[244  ] 


THE    RAVELIN'    WOLF 


how  he  cringed  an'  ducked  back  I  taken  an 
other  chancet  on  him,  an5  the  subsequent  evi 
dences  offers  testimony  dat  both  times  I  reck- 
ined  right.  Jedge,  the  late  Doct'  Duvall  muster 
married  some  powerful  rough-actin'  gals  in  his 
time  ef  he  thought  the  Mobile  one  wuz  the  gen 
tlest  out  of  three.  Well,  anyway,  suh,  the  rav 
elin'  wolf  is  gone  frum  us,  an'  fur  one  I  ain't 
'spectin'  him  back  never  no  mo'.  An'  I  reckin 
dat's  the  main  pint  wid  you  an'  me  both." 

"The  ravelin' whut?" 

"Dat's  whut  Aunt  Dilsey  called  him  oncet, 
speechifyin'  to  me  'bout  him — the  ravelin'  wolf. 
Only  he  suttinly  did  look  he  wuz  comin'  un 
raveled  mighty  fast  the  last  I  seen  of  him." 


[245] 


CHAPTER  VI 
"WORTH    10,000" 


YOU  might  have  called  Vincent  C.  Marr 
a  self-made  man  and  be  making  no  mis 
take  about  it.  For  he  was  self-made; 
not  merely  self -assembled,  as  so  many 
men  are  who  attain  distinction  in  this  profession 
or  that  calling.  Entirely  through  his  own 
efforts,  with  only  his  native  wit  to  light  the  way 
for  him,  he  had  pulled  himself  up,  step  by  step, 
from  the  very  bottom  of  his  trade  to  the  very  top 
of  it.  His  trade  was  the  applied  trade  of  crook 
edness;  his  pursuit  the  pursuit  of  other  folks' 
cash  resources.  He  had  the  envy  and  admira 
tion  of  his  friends  in  allied  branches  of  the  same 
general  industry;  he  had  the  begrudged  respect 
of  his  official  enemies,  the  police;  while  his  ac 
complishments  —  the  tricks  he  pulled,  the  coups 
he  scored,  the  purses  he  garnered  —  were  dis 
cussed  and  praised  by  the  human  nits  and  lice 
of  the  Seamy  Side,  just  as  the  achievements  in  a 
legitimate  field  of  a  Hill  or  a  Schwab  or  a  Rocke 
feller  might  be  talked  of  among  petty  shop- 
keepers  and  little  business  men.  He  had,  as  the 
[  246  ] 


1  O  ,  O  O  O  '  ' 


phrase  goes,  everything  —  imagination,  resource, 
ingenuity,  audacity,  utter  ruthlessness. 

Yet  it  would  seem  hard  to  conceive  a  more 
humble  beginning  than  his  had  been.  His 
father  was  a  cobbler  in  a  little  West  Virginia 
coal  town.  At  sixteen  he  ran  away  from  home 
to  go  with  a  small  circus.  This  circus  was  a 
traveling  shield  for  all  manner  of  rough  extor 
tioners.  Card  sharps,  shell  workers,  petermen, 
sneak  thieves,  pickpockets,  even  burglars  rode 
its  train.  They  had  a  saying  that  the  owner  of 
this  show  sold  the  safe-blowing  privileges  out 
right  but  retained  a  one-third  interest  in  the 
hold-up  concession.  That  was  a  whimsical 
exaggeration  of  what  perhaps  had  a  kern  of 
truth  in  it.  Certainly  it  was  the  fact  of  the  case 
that  the  owner  depended  more  upon  his  lion's 
cut  of  the  swag  which  the  trailing  jackals 
amassed  than  upon  the  intake  at  the  ticket  win 
dows.  Bad  weather  might  kill  his  business  for  a 
week;  a  crop  failure  might  lame  it  for  a  month; 
but  the  graft  was  as  sure  as  anything  graftified 
can  be.  When  the  runaway  youth,  Vince  Marr, 
inserted  himself  beneath  the  protecting  wing 
of  this  patron  he  knew  exactly  whither  his  ul 
timate  ambitions  tended.  He  had  no  vague 
boyish  design  to  serve  a  'prenticeship  as  stake 
driver  or  roustabout  in  the  hope  some  day  of 
graduating  into  a  rider  or  a  tumbler,  a  ring 
master  or  a  clown.  He  joined  out  in  order  that 
among  these  congenial  influences  he  might  the 

quicker  become  an  accomplished  thief. 

__ ._ 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


Starting  as  a  novice  he  had  to  carve  out  his 
own  little  niche  in  company  where  the  competi 
tion  already  was  fierce.  His  rise,  though,  was 
rapid.  So  far  as  the  records  show  he  was  the 
first  of  the  Monday  guys.  He  developed  the 
line  himself  and  gave  to  it  its  name.  A  Monday 
guy  was  a  plunderer  of  clotheslines.  He  fol 
lowed  the  route  of  the  daily  street  parade;  rather 
he  followed  a  route  running  roughly  parallel  to 
it.  He  set  out  coincidentally  with  it  and  he 
aimed  to  have  his  pilfering  stint  finished  when 
the  parade  was  over.  He  prowled  in  alleys  and 
skinned  over  back  fences,  progressing  from 
house  yard  to  house  yard  while  the  parade 
passed  through  the  streets  upon  which  the 
houses  faced.  From  kitchen  boilers  and  laundry 
heaps,  from  wash  baskets  and  drying  ropes,  he 
skimmed  the  pick  of  what  was  offered  —  silk 
shirts,  fancy  hose,  women's  embroidered  blouses, 
women's  belaced  under-things.  His  work  was 
made  comparatively  easy  for  him,  since  the 
dwellers  of  the  houses  would  be  watching  the 
parade. 

His  strippings  he  carried  to  the  show  lot  and 
there  he  hid  them  away.  That  night  in  the  priv 
ilege  car  the  collections  of  the  day  would  be 
disposed  of  by  sale  or  trade  to  members  of  the 
troupe  and  the  affiliated  rogues.  Especially 
desirable  pieces  might  be  reserved  to  be  shipped 
on  to  a  professional  receiver  of  stolen  goods  in 
a  certain  city.  Naturally,  pickings  were  at  their 
best  on  a  Monday,  for  since  Mother  Eve  on  the 
[248] 


WORTH      1O,OOO3 


first  Monday  hanged  her  fig  leaf  out  to  dry, 
Monday  has  been  wash  day  the  world  over. 
Hence  the  name  for  the  practitioner  of  the 
business. 

Vince  Marr  did  not  very  long  remain  a  Mon 
day  guy.  The  risks  were  not  very  great,  every 
thing  considered.  Suppose  detection  did  come; 
suppose  the  cry  of  "Stop  thief!"  was  raised. 
Who  would  quit  watching  a  circus  parade  to 
join  in  a  hunt  for  a  marauder  already  vanished 
in  a  maze  of  outbuildings  and  alleyways?  Still 
there  were  risks  to  be  taken,  and  the  rewards  on 
the  whole  were  small  and  uncertain.  Before  he 
reached  his  nineteenth  year  young  Marr  was  the 
manager  of  a  weighing  pitch.  Apparently  he 
had  but  one  associate  in  the  enterprise;  as  a 
matter  of  fact  he  had  four.  In  the  place  where 
holidaying  crowds  gathered  —  on  a  circus  lot,  at 
a  street  carnival,  outside  the  gates  of  a  county 
fair  —  he  and  his  visible  partner  would  set  up 
his  weighing  device,  and  then  stationing  himself 
near  it  he  would  beseech  you  to  let  him  guess 
your  correct  weight.  If  he  guessed  within  three 
pounds  of  it,  as  recorded  by  the  machine,  you 
owed  him  a  nickel;  if  he  failed  to  guess  within 
three  pounds  of  it  you  owed  him  nothing.  "Take 
a  chance,  brother!"  he  would  entreat  you  with 
friendly  jovial  banter.  "Be  a  sport  —  take  a 
chance!"  Let  us  say  you  accepted  his  proposi 
tion.  Swiftly  he  would  flip  with  his  hands  along 
your  sides,  would  slap  your  flanks,  would  pinch 
you  gently  as  though  testing  your  flesh  for  solid- 
[249] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


ity,  then  would  call  out  loudly  so  that  all 
within  earshot  might  hear:  "I  figure  that  the 
gentleman  weighs  —  let  me  see  —  exactly  one 
hundred  and  forty-seven  pounds. "  Or  perhaps 
he  would  predict:  "This  big  fellow  will  pull  her 
down  at  two  hundred  and  eight  pounds,  no  more 
and  no  less. "  Then  you  placed  yourself  in  the 
swinging  seat  of  the  machine  with  your  feet 
clear  of  the  earth,  and  his  partner  duly  weighed 
you.  Sometimes  Marr  guessed  your  weight; 
quite  as  often,  though,  he  failed  to  come  within 
three  pounds  of  it  and  you  paid  him  nothing  for 
his  pains.  It  was  difficult  to  figure  how  so  pre 
carious  a  means  of  income  could  be  made  to 
yield  a  proper  return  unless  the  scales  were  dis 
honest. 

The  scales  were  honest  enough.  The  real 
profits  were  derived  from  quite  a  different 
source.  Three  master  dips  —  pickpockets  — 
were  waiting  for  you  as  you  moved  off;  they  at 
tended  to  your  case  with  neatness  and  dispatch. 
Their  work  was  expedited  for  them  by  reason 
that  already  they  knew  where  you  carried  your 
valuables.  Once  Marr  ran  his  swift  and  prac 
ticed  fingers  over  your  body  he  knew  where  your 
watch  was,  your  wallet,  your  purse  for  small 
change,  your  roll  of  bills. 

A  code  word  in  his  patter  advertised  to  his 
confederates  exactly  whereabouts  upon  your 
person  the  treasure  was  carried.  Really  the 
business  gave  splendid  returns.  It  was  Marr, 
though,  who  had  seized  upon  it  when  it  merely 
[250] 


1  O  ,  O  O  O  ' 


was  a  catchpenny  carnival  device  and  made  of 
it  a  real  money  earner.  Moreover,  the  pick 
pockets  took  the  real  peril.  Even  in  the  infre 
quent  event  of  the  detection  of  them  there  was 
no  evidence  to  justify  the  suspicion  that  the 
proprietors  of  the  weighing  machine  were  acces 
sories  to  the  pocket  looting.  Vince  Marr  was 
like  that  —  always  playing  safe  for  himself, 
always  thinking  a  jump  ahead  of  his  crowd  and 
a  jump  and  a  half  ahead  of  the  police. 

He  was  never  the  one  to  get  into  a  rut  and  stay 
there.  Long  before  the  old-time  grafting  cir 
cuses  grew  scarce  and  scarcer,  and  before  the 
street-fairing  concessions  progressed  out  of  their 
primitive  beginnings  into  orderly  and  recognized 
organizations,  he  had  quitted  both  fields  for 
higher  and  more  lucrative  ramifications  of  his 
craft.  Ask  any  old-time  con  man  who  ostensibly 
has  reformed.  If  he  tells  you  the  truth  —  which 
is  doubtful  —  he  will  tell  you  it  was  Chappy 
Marr  who  really  evolved  the  fake  foot-racing 
game,  who  patched  up  the  leaks  in  the  wireless 
wire-tapping  game,  who  standardized  at  least 
two  popular  forms  of  the  send  game,  who  im 
proved  marvelously  upon  three  differing  ver 
sions  of  the  pay-off  game. 

All  the  time  he  was  perfecting  himself  in  his 
profession,  fitting  himself  for  the  practice  of  it 
in  its  highermost  departments.  He  learned  to 
tone  down  his  wardrobe.  He  polished  his 
manners  until  they  had  a  gloss  on  them.  He 
labored  assiduously  to  correct  his  grammar,  and 
[251] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


so  well  succeeded  at  the  task  that  except  when  he 
was  among  associates  and  relapsed  into  the 
argot  of  the  breed,  he  used  language  fit  for  a 
college  professor  —  fit  for  some  college  profes 
sors  anyway.  At  thirty  he  was  a  glib,  spry 
person  with  a  fancy  for  gay  housings.  At  forty- 
five,  when  he  reached  the  top  of  his  swing,  he 
had  the  looks,  the  vocabulary  and  the  presence 
of  an  educated  and  a  traveled  person. 

He  had  one  technical  defect,  if  defect  it  might 
be  called.  In  the  larger  affairs  of  his  unhallowed 
business  he  displayed  a  mental  adaptability,  a 
talent  to  think  quickly  and  shift  his  tactics  to 
meet  the  suddenly  arisen  emergency,  which  was 
the  envy  of  lesser  underworld  notables;  but  in 
smaller  details  of  life  he  was  prone  to  follow  the 
line  of  least  resistance,  which  is  true  of  the  most 
of  us,  honest  and  dishonest  men  the  same.  For 
instance,  though  he  had  half  a  dozen  or  more 
common  aliases  —  names  which  he  changed  as 
he  changed  his  collars  —  he  pursued  a  certain 
fixed  rule  in  choosing  them,  just  as  a  man  in 
picking  out  neckties  might  favor  mixed  weaves 
and  varied  patterns  but  stick  always  to  the  same 
general  color  scheme.  He  might  be  Vincent  C. 
Marr,  which  was  his  proper  name,  or  among 
intimates  Chappy  Marr.  Then  again  he  might 
be  Col.  Van  Camp  Morgan,  of  Louisiana;  or  Mr. 
Vance  C.  Michaels,  a  Western  mine  owner;  or 
Victor  C.  Morehead;  he  might  be  a  Markham 
or  a  Murrill  or  a  Marsh  or  a  Murphy  as  the  oc- 
casion  and  the  role  and  his  humor  suited.  AI- 
[252] 


WORTH      1O,OOO' 


ways,  though,  the  initials  were  the  same.  Partly 
this  was  for  convenience  —  the  name  was  so 
much  easier  to  remember  then  —  but  partly  it 
was  due  to  that  instinct  for  ordered  routine 
which  in  a  reputable  sphere  of  endeavor  would 
have  made  this  man  rather  conventional  and 
methodical  in  his  personal  habits,  however 
audacious  and  resourceful  he  might  have  been 
on  his  public  side  and  his  professional.  He  es 
pecially  was  lucky  in  that  he  never  acquired 
any  of  those  mouth-filling  nicknames  such  as 
Paper  Collar  Joe  wore,  and  Grand  Central  Pete 
and  Appetite  Willie  and  the  Mitt-and-a-Half 
Kid  and  the  late  Soapy  Smith  —  picturesque 
enough,  all  of  them,  but  giving  to  the  wearers 
thereof  an  undesirable  prominence  in  news 
papers  and  to  that  added  extent  curtailing 
their  usefulness  in  their  own  special  areas  of 
operation. 

Nor  had  he  ever  smelled  the  chloride-of-lime- 
and-circus-cage  smell  of  the  inside  of  a  state's 
prison;  no  Bertillon  sharp  had  on  file  his  meas 
urements  and  thumb  prints,  nor  did  any  central 
office  or  detective  bureau  contain  his  rogues- 
gallery  photograph.  Times  almost  past  count 
ing  he  had  been  taken  up  on  suspicion;  more 
than  once  had  been  arrested  on  direct  charges, 
and  at  least  twice  had  been  indicted.  But  be 
cause  of  connections  with  crooked  lawyers  and 
approachable  politicians  and  venal  police  officials 
and  because  also  of  his  own  individual  canniness, 
he  always  bad  escaped  conviction  and  imprison- 
___ 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


merit.  There  was  no  stink  of  the  stone  hoosgow 
on  his  correctly  tailored  garments,  and  no  barber 
other  than  one  of  his  own  choosing  had  ever 
shingled  Chappy  Marr's  hair.  Within  reason, 
therefore,  he  was  free  to  come  and  go,  to  bide 
and  to  tarry;  and  come  and  go  at  will  he  did 
until  that  unfortuitous  hour  when  the  affair  of 
the  wealthy  Mrs.  Propbridge  and  her  husband 
came  to  pass. 

When  the  period  of  post-wartime  inflation 
,came  upon  this  country  specialized  thievery 
marched  abreast  with  legitimate  enterprise;  with 
it  as  with  the  other,  rewards  became  tremen 
dously  larger;  small  turnovers  were  regarded  as 
puny  and  contemptible,  and  operators  thought  in 
terms  of  pyramiding  thousands  of  dollars  where 
before  they  had  been  glad  to  strive  for  specu 
lative  returns  of  hundreds.  By  now  Chappy 
Marr  had  won  his  way  to  the  forefront  of  his 
kind.  The  same  intelligence  invoked,  the  same 
energies  exercised,  and  in  almost  any  proper 
field  he  would  before  this  have  been  a  rich  man 
and  an  honored  one.  By  his  twisted  code  of 
ethics  and  unmorals,  though,  the  dubious  pre 
eminence  he  enjoyed  was  ample  reward.  He 
stood  forth  from  the  ruck  and  run,  a  creator  and 
a  leader  who  could  afford  to  pass  by  the  lesser, 
more  precarious  games,  with  their  prospect  of 
uncertain  takings,  for  the  really  big  and  im 
portant  things.  He  was  like  a  specialist  who 
having  won  a  prominent  position  may  now  say 
that  he  will  accept  only  such  patients  as  he 
[254] 


1  O  ,  O  O  O 

pleases  and  treat  only  such  cases  as  appeal  to 
him. 

This  being  so,  there  were  open  to  him  two 
especially  favored  lines :  he  might  be  a  deep-sea 
fisherman,  meaning  by  that  a  crooked  card 
player  traveling  on  ocean  steamers;  or  he  might 
be  the  head  of  a  swell  mob  of  blackmailers 
preying  upon  more  or  less  polite  society.  For 
the  first  he  had  not  the  digital  facility  which  was 
necessary;  his  fingers  lacked  the  requisite  deft 
ness,  however  agile  and  flexible  the  brain  which 
directed  the  fingers  might  be.  So  Chappy  Marr 
turned  his  talents  to  blackmailing.  Black 
mailing  plants  had  acquired  a  sudden  vogue; 
nearly  all  the  wise-cracking  kings  and  queens  of 
Marr's  world  had  gone  or  were  going  into  them. 
Moreover,  blackmailing  offered  an  opportunity 
for  variety  of  scope  and  ingenuity  in  the  me 
chanics  of  its  workings  which  appealed  mightily 
to  a  born  originator.  Finally  there  was  a  para 
mount  consideration.  Of  all  the  tricks  and 
devices  at  the  command  of  the  top-hole  rogue 
it  was  the  very  safest  to  play.  Ninety-nine 
times  out  of  a  hundred  the  victim  had  his  social 
position  or  his  business  reputation  to  think  of, 
else  in  the  first  place  he  would  never  have  been 
picked  on  as  a  fit  subject  for  victimizing. 
Therefore  he  was  all  the  more  disposed  to  pay 
and  keep  still,  and  pay  again. 

The  bait  in  the  trap  of  the  average  black 
mailing  plant  is  a  woman  —  a  young  woman, 
good-looking,  well  groomed  and  smart.     It  is 
[255] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


with  her  that  the  quarry  is  compromisingly 
entangled.  But  against  women  confederates 
Chappy  Marr  had  a  strong  prejudice.  They 
were  such  uncertain  quantities;  you  never  could 
depend  upon  them.  They  were  emotional, 
temperamental;  they  let  their  sentimental  at 
tachments  run  away  with  their  judgment;  they 
fell  in  love,  which  was  bad;  they  talked  too 
much,  which  was  worse;  they  were  fickle- 
minded  and  jealous;  they  were  given  to  falling 
out  with  male  pals,  and  they  had  been  known  to 
carry  a  jealous  grudge  to  the  point  of  turning 
informer.  So  he  set  his  inventions  to  the  task  of 
evolving  a  blackmailing  snare  which  might  be 
set  and  sprung,  and  afterwards  dismantled  and 
hidden  away  without  the  intervention  of  the 
female  knave  of  the  species  in  any  of  its  stages. 
Trust  him  —  smooth  as  lubricating  oil,  a  verit 
able  human  graphite  —  to  turn  the  trick.  He 
turned  it. 

The  upshot  was  a  lovely  thing,  almost  fool 
proof  and  practically  cop-proof.  To  be  sure,  a 
woman  figured  in  it,  but  her  part  was  that  of 
the  chosen  prey,  not  the  part  of  an  accessory 
and  accomplice.  The  greater  simplicity  of  the 
device  was  attested  by  the  fact  that  for  its 
mounting,  from  beginning  to  end,  only  three 
active  performers  were  needed.  The  chief  role 
he  would  play.  For  his  main  supporting  cast 
he  needed  two  men,  and  knew  moreover  exactly 
where  to  find  them.  Of  these  two  on'y  one 
would  show  ever  upon  the  stage.  The  other 
[256] 


1  O  ,  O  O  O 


would  bide  out  of  sight  behind  the  scenes, 
doing  his  share  of  the  work,  unsuspected,  from 
under  cover. 

For  the  part  which  he  intended  her  to  take  in 
his  production  —  the  part  of  dupe  —  Mrs. 
Justus  Propbridge  was,  as  one  might  say,  made 
to  order.  Consider  her  qualifications:  young, 
pretty,  impressionable,  vain  and  inexperienced; 
the  second  wife  of  a  man  who  even  in  these  times 
of  suddenly  inflated  fortunes  was  reckoned  to 
be  rich ;  newly  come  out  of  the  boundless  West, 
bringing  a  bounding  social  ambition  with  her; 
spending  money  freely  and  having  plenty  more 
at  command  to  spend  when  the  present  supply 
was  gone;  her  name  appearing  frequently  in 
those  newspapers  and  those  weekly  and  monthly 
magazines  catering  particularly  to  the  so-called 
smart  set,  which  is  so  called,  one  gathers,  be 
cause  it  is  not  a  set  and  is  not  particularly  smart. 

Young  Mrs.  Propbridge  figured  that  her  name 
was  becoming  tolerably  well  known  along  the 
Gold  Coast  of  the  North  Atlantic  Seaboard. 
It  was  too.  For  example,  there  was  at  least  one 
person  entirely  unknown  to  her  who  kept  a  close 
tally  of  her  comings  and  her  goings,  of  her  social 
activities,  of  her  mode  of  daily  life.  This  person 
was  Vincent  Marr.  Thanks  to  the  freedom  with 
which  a  certain  type  of  journal  discusses  the 
private  and  the  public  affairs  of  those  men  and 
women  most  commonly  mentioned  in  its  col 
umns,  he  presently  had  in  his  mind  a  very  clear 
picture  of  this  >ady,  and  he  followed  her  move- 
[257] 


SUNDRY      ACCOUNTS 


ments,  as  reflected  in  print,  with  care  and  fidel 
ity;  it  was  as  though  he  had  a  deep  personal 
interest  in  her.  For  a  matter  of  fact,  he  did;  he 
had  a  very  personal  interest  in  her.  He  had 
been  doing  this  for  months;  in  his  trade,  as  in 
many  others,  patience  was  not  only  a  virtue  but 
a  necessity.  For  example,  he  knew  that  her 
determined  and  persistent  but  somewhat  crudely 
engineered  campaigning  to  establish  herself  in 
what  New  York  calls  —  with  a  big  S  —  Society 
was  the  subject  in  some  quarters  of  a  somewhat 
thinly  veiled  derision ;  he  knew  that  her  husband 
was  rather  an  elemental,  not  to  say  a  primitive 
creature,  but  genuine  and  aboveboard  and 
generous,  as  elemental  beings  are  likely  to  be. 
Marr  figured  him  to  be  of  the  jealous  type.  He 
hoped  he  was;  it  might  simplify  matters  tre 
mendously. 

On  a  certain  summer  morning  a  paragraph  ap 
peared  in  at  least  three  daily  papers  to  the  effect 
that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Justus  Propbridge  had  gone 
down  to  Gulf  Stream  City,  on  the  Maryland 
coast;  they  would  be  at  the  Churchill-Fontenay 
there  for  a  week  or  ten  days.  It  was  at  his  break 
fast  that  Marr  read  this  information.  At  noon, 
having  in  the  meantime  done  a  considerable 
amount  of  telephoning,  he  was  on  his  way  to  the 
seaside  too.  Mentally  he  was  shaking  hands 
with  himself  in  a  warmly  congratulatory  way. 
Gulf  Stream  City  was  a  place  seemingly  de 
signed,  both  by  Nature  and  by  man,  for  the 

serving  of  his  purposes. 

[258] 


1  O  ,  O  O  O  ' 


Residing  there  were  persons  of  his  own  kidney 
and  persuasion,  on  whom  he  might  count  for  at 
least  one  detail  of  invaluable  cooperation.  For 
a  certain  act  of  his  piece,  a  short  but  highly  im 
portant  one,  he  also  must  have  a  borrowed  stage 
setting  and  a  supernumerary  actor  or  so. 

Immediately  upon  his  arrival  he  sought  out 
certain  dependable  individuals  and  put  them 
through  a  rough  rehearsal.  This  he  did  before 
he  claimed  the  room  he  had  engaged  by  wire  at 
the  Hotel  Crofter.  The  Hotel  Crofter  snuggled 
its  lesser  bulk  under  an  imposing  flank  of  the 
supposedly  exclusive  and  admittedly  expensive 
Churchill-Fontenay.  From  its  verandas  one 
might  command  a  view  of  the  main  entrance  of 
the  greater  hotel. 

It  was  on  a  Tuesday  that  the  Propbridges 
reached  Gulf  Stream  City.  It  was  on  Wednes 
day  afternoon  that  the  husband  received  a  tele 
gram,  signed  with  the  name  of  a  business  asso 
ciate,  calling  him  to  Toledo  for  a  conference  — 
so  the  wire  stated  —  upon  an  urgent  compli 
cation  newly  arisen.  Mr.  Propbridge,  as  all  the 
world  knew,  was  one  of  the  heaviest  stock 
holders  and  a  member  of  the  board  of  the 
Sonnesbein-Propbridge  Tire  Company,  which, 
as  the  world  likewise  knew,  had  had  tremendous 
dealings  in  contracts  with  the  Government  and 
now  was  having  trouble  closing  up  the  loose 
ends  of  its  wartime  activities. 

He  packed  a  bag  and  caught  a  night  train 
West.  On  the  following  morning,  which  would 
[259] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


be  Thursday,  Mrs.  Propbridge  took  a  stroll  on 
Gulf  Stream  City's  famous  boardwalk.  It  was 
rather  a  lonely  stroll.  She  had  no  particular 
objective.  It  was  too  early  in  the  day  for  a  full 
display  of  vivid  costumes  among  the  bathers  on 
the  beach.  She  encountered  no  one  she  knew. 

Really,  for  a  resort  so  extensively  advertised, 
Gulf  Stream  City  was  not  a  particularly  exciting 
place.  For  lack  of  anything  better  to  do  she  had 
halted  to  view  the  contents  of  a  shop  window 
when  an  exclamation  of  happy  surprise  from 
someone  immediately  behind  her  caused  Mrs. 
Propbridge  to  turn  around. 

Immediately  it  was  her  turn  to  register  aston 
ishment.  A  tall,  well-dressed,  gray-haired  man, 
a  stranger  to  her,  was  taking  possession  of  her 
right  hand  and  shaking  it  warmly. 

"Why,  my  dear  Mrs.  Watrous,"  he  was  say 
ing,  "how  do  you  do?  Well,  this  is  an  unex 
pected  pleasure!  When  did  you  come  down 
from  Wilmington?  And  who  is  with  you?  And 
how  long  are  you  going  to  stay?  General 
Dunlap  and  his  daughter  Claire  —  you  know, 
the  second  daughter  —  and  Mrs.  Gordon-Tracy 
and  Freddy  Urb  will  be  here  in  a  little  while. 
They'll  be  delighted  to  see  you!  Why,  we'll 
have  a  reunion !  Well,  well,  well ! " 

He  had  said  all  this  with  scarcely  a  pause  for 
breath  and  without  giving  her  an  opportunity 
to  speak,  as  though  surprise  made  him  disre- 
gardful  of  labial  punctuation  of  his  sentences. 
Indeed,  Mrs.  Propbridge  did  not  succeed  in  get- 
[260] 


WORTH      1O,OOO 


ting  her  hand  free  from  his  grasp  until  he  had 
uttered  the  final  "well." 

"You  have  the  advantage  of  me,"  she  said. 
"  I  do  not  know  you.  I  am  sure  I  never  saw  you 
before." 

At  this  his  sudden  shift  from  cordiality  to  a 
look  half  incredulous,  half  embarrassed  was 
almost  comic. 

"What?"  he  demanded,  falling  back  a  pace. 
"Surely  this  is  Mrs.  Beeman  Watrous  of  Wil 
mington?  I  can't  be  mistaken!" 

"But  you  are  mistaken,"  she  insisted;  "very 
much  mistaken.  My  name  is  not  Watrous;  my 
name  is  Propbridge. " 

"Madam,"  he  cried,  "I  beg  ten  thousand 
pardons!  Really,  though,  this  is  one  of  the 
most  remarkable  things  I  ever  saw  in  my  life  — 
one  of  the  most  remarkable  cases  of  resem 
blance,  I  mean.  I  am  sure  anyone  would  be 
deceived  by  it;  that  is  my  apology.  In  my 
own  behalf,  madam,  I  must  tell  you  that  you 
are  an  exact  counterpart  of  someone  I  know 
—  of  Mrs.  Beeman  Watrous,  a  very  good  friend 
of  mine.  Pardon  me  once  more,  but  may  I 
ask  if  you  are  related  to  Mrs.  Beeman  Watrous? 
Her  cousin  perhaps?  It  isn't  humanly  possible 
that  two  persons  should  look  so  much  alike 
and  not  be  related?" 

"I  don't  think  I  ever  heard  of  the  lady," 
stated  Mrs.  Propbridge  somewhat  coldly. 

"  Again,  madam,  please  excuse  me,"  he  said. 
"I  am  very,  very  sorry  to  have  annoyed  you." 
[  261  ] 


SUNDRY      ACCOUNTS 

He  bowed  his  bared  head  and  turned  away. 
Then  quickly  he  swung  on  his  heel  and  returned 
to  her,  his  hat  again  in  his  left  hand. 

"Madam,"  he  said,  "I  am  fearful  that  you 
are  suspecting  me  of  being  one  of  the  objection 
able  breed  of  he-flirts  who  infest  this  place.  At 
the  risk  of  being  tiresome  I  must  repeat  once 
more  that  your  wonderful  resemblance  to  an 
other  person  led  me  into  this  awkward  error. 
My  name,  madam,  is  Murrill  —  Valentine  C. 
Murrill  —  and  I  am  sure  that  if  you  only  had 
the  time  and  the  patience  to  bear  with  me  I 
could  find  someone  here  —  some  acquaintance  of 
yours  perhaps  —  who  would  vouch  for  me  and 
make  it  plain  to  you  that  I  am  not  addicted  to 
the  habit  of  forcing  myself  upon  strangers  on  the 
pretext  that  I  have  met  them  somewhere." 

His  manner  was  disarming.  It  was  more  than 
that;  it  was  outright  engaging.  He  was  care 
fully  groomed,  smartly  turned  out;  he  had  the 
manner  and  voice  of  a  well-bred  person.  To 
Mrs.  Propbridge  he  seemed  a  candid,  courteous 
soul  unduly  distressed  over  a  small  matter. 

"Please  don't  concern  yourself  about  it," 
she  said.  "I  didn't  suspect  you  of  being  a  pro 
fessional  masher;  I  was  only  rather  startled, 
that's  all." 

"Thank  you  for  telling  me  so, "  he  said.  "  You 
take  a  load  off  my  mind,  I  assure  you.  Pardon 
me  again,  please  —  but  did  I  understand  you  to 
say  a  moment  ago  that  your  name  was  Prop- 

bridge?" 

[262] 


WORTH      1O,OOO 


"Yes." 

"It  isn't  a  very  common  name.  Surely  you 
are  not  the  Mrs.  Propbridge?" 

Without  being  in  the  least  presuming  he 
somehow  had  managed  to  convey  a  subtle 
tribute. 

"I  am  Mrs.  Justus  Propbridge,  if  that  is  what 
you  mean, "  she  said. 

"Well,  then,"  he  said  in  tones  of  relief,  "that 
simplifies  matters.  Is  your  husband  about, 
madam?  If  he  is  I  will  do  myself  the  honor  of 
introducing  myself  to  him  and  repeating  to  him 
the  explanation  I  have  just  made  to  you.  You 
see,  I  am  by  way  of  being  one  of  the  small  fish 
who  circulate  on  the  outer  edge  of  the  big  sea 
where  the  large  financial  whales  swim,  and  it  is 
possible  that  he  may  have  heard  my  name  and 
may  know  who  I  am." 

'My  husband  isn't  here,"  she  explained. 
"He  was  called  away  last  night  on  business." 

"Again   my   misfortune,"   he  said. 

They  were  in  motion  now;  he  had  fallen  into 
step  alongside  her  as  she  moved  on  back  up  the 
boardwalk.  Plainly  her  amazing  resemblance  to 
someone  else  was  once  more  the  uppermost 
subject  in  his  mind.  He  went  back  to  it. 

"I've  heard  before  now  of  dual  personalities, " 
he  said,  "but  this  is  my  first  actual  experience 
with  a  case  of  it.  When  I  first  saw  you  standing 
there  with  your  back  to  me  and  even  when  you 
turned  round  facing  me  after  I  spoke  to  you,  I 
was  ready  to  swear  that  you  were  Mrs.  Beeman 

[263] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


Watrous.  Look,  manner,  size,  voice,  hair, 
eyes  —  all  identical.  I  know  her  very  well  too. 
I've  been  a  guest  at  one  or  two  of  her  house 
parties.  It's  curious  that  you  never  heard  of 
her,  Mrs.  Propbridge;  she's  the  widow  of  one 
of  the  Wilmington  Watrouses  —  the  firearms 
people,  you  know  —  guns,  rifles,  all  that  sort  of 
thing  —  and  he  left  her  more  millions  than  she 
knows  what  to  do  with." 

Now  Mrs.  Propbridge  had  never  heard  of  any 
Wilmington  Watrouses,  but  plainly,  here  in  the 
East  they  were  persons  of  consequence  —  per 
sons  who  would  be  worth  knowing. 

She  nodded  as  though  to  indicate  that  now 
she  did  faintly  recall  who  it  was  this  kindly 
stranger  had  meant. 

He  went  on.  It  was  evident  that  he  was  in 
clined  to  be  talkative.  The  impression  was 
conveyed  to  her  that  here  was  a  well-meaning 
but  rather  shallow-minded  gentleman  who  was 
reasonably  fond  of  the  sound  of  his  own  voice. 
Yet  about  him  was  nothing  to  suggest  over- 
effusiveness  or  familiarity. 

"I've  a  sort  of  favor  to  ask  of  you, "  he  said. 
"I've  some  friends  who're  motoring  over  to-day 
from  Philadelphia.  I  had  to  run  on  down  ahead 
of  them  to  see  a  man  on  business.  They're  to 
join  me  in  about  an  hour  from  now"  —  he  con 
sulted  his  watch — "and  we're  all  driving  back 
together  to-night.  General  Dunlap  and  Mrs. 
Claire  Denton,  his  daughter  —  she's  the  ama 
teur  tennis  champion,  you  know  —  and  Mrs. 
[264] 


WORTH      1O,OOO' 


Gordon-Tracy,  of  Newport,  and  Freddy  Urb, 
the  writer  —  they're  all  in  the  party.  And  the 
favor  I'm  asking  is  that  I  may  have  the  pleas 
ure  of  presenting  them  to  you  —  that  is,  of 
course,  unless  you  already  know  them  —  so  that 
I  may  enjoy  the  looks  on  their  faces  when  they 
find  out  that  you  are  not  Mrs.  Beeman  Wat- 
rous.  I  know  they'll  behave  as  I  did.  They 
won't  believe  it  at  first.  May  I?" 

What  could  Mrs.  Propbridge  do  except  con 
sent?  Indeed,  inwardly  she  rejoiced  at  the 
prospect.  She  did  not  know  personally  the  four 
named  by  this  Mr.  Murrill,  but  she  knew  mighty 
well  who  they  were.  What  person  familiar  with 
the  Social  Register  could  fail  to  know  who  they 
were?  Another  thing  had  impressed  her:  The 
stranger  had  mentioned  these  notables  with  no 
especial  emphasis  on  the  names;  but  instead, 
quite  casually  and  in  a  manner  which  carried 
with  it  the  impression  that  such  noted  folk  as 
Mrs.  Den  ton  and  her  distinguished  father,  and 
Freddy  Urb  the  court  jester  of  the  innermost 
holies  of  holies  of  Newport  and  Bar  Harbor  and 
Pa^m  Beach,  and  Mrs.  Gordon -Tracy,  the  fa 
mous  beauty,  were  of  the  sort  with  whom  custom 
arily  he  associated.  Plainly  here  was  a  gentle 
man  who  not  only  belonged  to  the  who's-who 
but  had  a  very  clear  perception  of  the  what- 
was-what.  So  fluttered  little  Mrs.  Propbridge 
promptly  said  yes — said  it  with  a  gratified 
sensation  in  her  heart. 

"That's  fine  of  you!"     said  Murrill,  visibly 

[265] 


SUNDRY      ACCOUNTS 


elated.  It  would  appear  that  small  favors  were 
to  him  great  pleasures.  "That's  splendid!  Up 
until  now  the  joke  of  this  thing  has  been  on  me. 
I  want  to  transfer  it  to  them.  I'm  to  meet 
them  up  here  in  the  lounge  of  the  Churchill- 
Fontenay." 

"That's  where  I  am  stopping,"  said  Mrs. 
Propbridge. 

"Is  it?  Better  and  better!  We  might  stroll 
along  that  way  if  you  don't  mind.  By  Jove, 
I've  an  idea!  Suppose  when  they  arrive  they 
found  us  chatting  together  like  old  friends  - 
suppose  as  they  came  up  they  were  to  overhear 
me  calling  you  Mrs.  Beeman  Watrous.  That 
would  make  the  shock  all  the  greater  for  them 
when  they  found  out  you  really  weren't  Mrs. 
Watrous  at  all,  but  somebody  they'd  never  seen 
before!  Are  you  game  for  it?  .  .  .  Capital! 
Only,  if  we  mean  to  do  that  we'll  have  to  kill  the 
time,  some  way,  for  forty  or  fifty  minutes  or  so. 
Do  you  mind  letting  me  bore  you  for  a  little 
while?  I  know  it's  unconventional  —  but  I  like 
to  do  the  unconventional  things  when  they  don't 
make  one  conspicuous. " 

Mrs.  Propbridge  did  not  in  the  least  mind. 
So  they  killed  the  time  and  it  died  a  very  agree 
able  death,  barring  one  small  incident.  On  Mr. 
Murrill's  invitation  they  took  a  short  turn  in  a 
double-seated  roller  chair,  Mr.  Murrill  chatting 
briskly  all  the  while  and  savoring  his  conversa 
tion  with  offhand  reference  to  this  well-known 
personage  and  that.  At  his  suggestion  they 
[266] 


1  O  ,  O  O  O  ' 


quit  the  wheel  chair  at  a  point  well  down  the 
boardwalk  to  drink  orangeades  in  a  small  glass- 
fronted  cafe  which  faced  the  sea.  He  had  heard 
somewhere,  he  said,  that  they  made  famous 
orangeades  in  this  shop.  They  might  try  for 
themselves  and  find  out. 

The  experiment  was  not  entirely  a  success. 
To  begin  with,  a  waiter  person  —  Mr.  Murrill 
referred  to  him  as  a  waiter  person  —  sat  them 
down  near  the  front  at  a  small,  round  table 
whose  enamel  top  was  decorated  with  two 
slopped  glasses  and  a  bottle  one-third  filled  with 
wine  gone  stale.  At  least  the  stuff  looked  and 
smelled  like  wine  —  like  a  poor  quality  of  cham 
pagne. 

"Ugh!"  said  Mr  Murrill,  tasting  the  air. 
"Somebody  evidently  couldn't  wait  until 
lunch  time  before  he  started  his  tippling.  And 
I  didn't  suspect  either  that  this  place  might  be 
a  bootlegging  place  in  disguise.  Well,  since 
prohibition  came  in  it's  hard  to  find  a  resort 
shop  anywhere  where  you  can't  buy  bad 
liquor  —  if  only  you  go  about  it  the  right  way. " 

When  the  waiter  person  brought  their  order 
he  bade  him  remove  the  bottle  and  the  slopped 
glasses,  and  the  waiter  person  obliged,  but  so 
sulkily  and  with  such  slowness  of  movement 
that  Mr.  Murrill  was  moved  to  speak  to  him 
rather  sharply.  Even  so,  the  sullen  functionary 
took  his  time  about  the  thing.  Nor  did  the 
orangeade  prove  particularly  appetizing.  Mr. 

Murrill  barely  tasted  his. 

[267] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


"Shall  we  clear  out?"  he  asked,  making  a 
fastidious  little  grimace. 

At  the  door,  on  the  way  out,  he  made  excuses. 
"Sorry  I  suggested  coming  into  this  place,"  he 
said,  sinking  his  voice.  "Either  it  is  a  shop 
which  has  gone  off  badly  or  its  merits  have  been 
overadvertised  by  its  loving  friends.  To  me  the 
whole  atmosphere  of  the  establishment  seemed 
rather  dubious,  eh,  what?  Well,  what  shall  we 
do  next?  I  see  a  few  bathers  down  below.  Shall 
we  go  down  on  the  beach  and  find  a  place  to  sit 
and  watch  them  for  a  bit?" 

They  went;  and  he  found  a  bench  in  a  quiet 
place  under  the  shorings  of  the  boardwalk  close 
up  alongside  one  of  the  lesser  bathing  pavilions, 
and  they  sat  there,  and  he  talked  and  she  lis 
tened.  The  man  had  an  endless  fund  of  gossip 
about  amusing  and  noted  people;  most  of  them, 
it  would  seem,  were  his  intimates.  Telling  one 
or  two  incidents  in  which  these  distinguished 
friends  had  figured,  he  felt  it  expedient  to  sink 
his  voice  to  a  discreet  undertone.  There  was 
plainly  apparent  a  delicacy  of  feeling  in  this; 
one  did  not  shout  out  the  names  of  such  persons 
for  any  curious  passer-by  to  hear.  It  developed 
that  there  was  one  specially  close  bond  between 
him  arid  the  members  of  General  Dunlap's 
family,  an  attachment  partly  based  upon  old 
acquaintance  and  partly  upon  the  fact  that  the 
Dunlaps  thought  he  once  upon  a  time  had  saved 
the  life  of  the  general's  youngest  daughter, 

Millicent.  

[268] 


1  O  ,  O  O  O  ' 


"Really,  though,  it  was  nothing,"  he  said 
deprecatingly,  as  befitted  a  modest  and  a  man 
nerly  man.  "The  thing  came  about  like  this: 
It  was  once  when  we  were  all  out  West  together. 
We  were  spending  a  week  at  the  Grand  Canon. 
One  morning  we  took  the  Rim  Drive  over  to 
Mohave  Point.  No  doubt  you  know  the  spot? 
I  was  standing  with  Millicent  on  the  outer  edge 
of  the  cliff  and  we  were  looking  down  together 
into  that  tremendous  void  when  all  of  a  sudden 
she  fainted  dead  away.  Her  heart  isn't  very 
strong  —  she  isn't  athletic  as  Claire,  her  older 
sister,  and  the  other  Dunlap  girls  are  -  -  and  I 
suppose  the  altitude  got  her.  Luckily  I  was  as 
close  to  her  as  I  am  to  you  now,  and  I  saw  her 
totter  and  I  threw  out  my  arms  —  pardon  me  — 
like  this."  He  illustrated  with  movements  of 
his  arms.  "And  luckily  I  managed  to  catch  her 
about  the  waist  as  she  fell  forward.  I  held  on 
and  dragged  her  back  out  of  danger.  Otherwise 
she  would  have  dropped  for  no  telling  how  many 
hundreds  of  feet.  Of  course  it  was  only  a  chance 
that  I  happened  to  be  touching  elbows  with  the 
child,  and  naturally  I  only  did  what  anyone 
would  have  done  in  the  same  circumstances,  but 
the  whole  family  were  tremendously  grateful 
and  made  a  great  pother  over  it.  By  the  way, 
speaking  of  rescues,  have  you  heard  about  the 
thing  that  happened  to  the  two  Van  Norden 
girls  at  Bailey's  Beach  last  week?  I  must  tell 
you  about  that. " 

Presently  they  both  were  surprised  to  find 

__ 


SUNDRY      ACCOUNTS 

that  forty -five  minutes  had  passed.  Mr.  Murrill 
said  they  had  better  be  getting  along;  he  made 
so  bold  as  to  venture  the  suggestion  that  possibly 
Mrs.  Propbridge  might  want  to  go  to  her  rooms 
before  the  automobile  party  arrived,  to  change 
her  frock  or  something.  Not  that  he  personally 
thought  she  should  change  it.  If  he  might  be 
pardoned  for  saying  so,  he  thought  it  a  most 
becoming  frock;  but  women  were  curious 
about  such  things,  now  honestly  weren't  they? 
And  Mrs.  Propbridge  was  constrained  to  confess 
that  about  such  things  women  were  curious.  She 
had  a  conviction  that  if  all  things  moved 
smoothly  she  presently  would  be  urged  to  waive 
formality  and  join  the  party  at  luncheon.  Mr. 
Murrill  had  not  exactly  put  the  idea  into  words 
yet,  but  she  sensed  that  the  thought  of  offering 
the  invitation  was  in  his  mind.  In  any  event 
the  impending  meeting  called  for  efforts  on  her 
part  to  appear  at  her  best. 

"I  believe  I  will  run  up  to  our  rooms  for  a  few 
minutes  before  your  friends  arrive,"  she  said  as 
they  arose  from  the  bench.  "I  want  to  freshen 
up  a  bit." 

"Quite  so, "  he  assented. 

He  left  her  at  the  doors  of  the  Churchill- 
Fontenay,  saying  he  would  idle  about  and  watch 
for  the  others  in  case  they  should  arrive  ahead 
of  time. 

Ten  minutes  later,  while  she  was  still  trying 
to  make  a  choice  between  three  frocks,  her  tele- 
phone  rang.  She  answered  the  ring;  it  was  Mr. 
[270] 


WORTH      1O,OOO' 


Murrill,  who  was  at  the  other  end  of  the  line. 
He  was  distressed  to  have  to  tell  her  that  word 
had  just  reached  him  that  on  the  way  down  from 
Philadelphia  General  Dunlap  had  been  taken 
suddenly  ill  —  an  attack  of  acute  indigestion, 
perhaps,  or  possibly  a  touch  of  the  sun  —  and 
the  motor  trip  had  been  halted  at  a  small  town 
on  the  mainland  fifteen  miles  back  of  Gulf 
Stream  City.  He  was  starting  immediately  for 
the  town  in  a  car  with  a  physician.  He  trusted 
the  general's  indisposition  was  not  really  serious 
but  of  course  the  party  would  be  called  off;  and 
the  invalid  would  return  to  Philadelphia  as  soon 
as  he  felt  well  enough  to  move.  He  was  awfully 
sorry  —  Mr.  Murrill  was  —  terribly  put  out, 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing;  hoped  that  another 
opportunity  might  be  vouchsafed  him  of  meet 
ing  Mrs.  Propbridge;  he  had  enjoyed  tremen 
dously  meeting  her  under  these  unconventional 
circumstances;  and  now  he  must  go. 

It  was  not  to  be  denied  that  young  Mrs.  Prop- 
bridge  felt  distinctly  disappointed.  The  start  of 
the  little  adventure  had  had  promise  in  it.  She 
had  forecast  all  manner  of  agreeable  contingen 
cies  as  the  probable  outcome. 

For  some  reason,  though,  or  perhaps  for  no 
definite  reason  at  all,  she  said  nothing  to  her 
husband,  on  his  return  from  Toledo,  of  her  en 
counter  with  the  agreeable  Mr.  Murrill.  Any 
way,  he  arrived  in  no  very  affable  state  of  mind. 
As  a  matter  of  fact  he  was  most  terrifically  out 
of  temper.  Somebody  or  other  —  presumably 
[271] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


some  ass  of  a  practical  joker,  he  figured,  or  pos 
sibly  a  person  with  a  grudge  against  him  who  had 
curious  methods  of  taking  vengeance  —  had 
lured  him  into  taking  a  hot,  dusty,  tiresome  and 
entirely  useless  trip.  There  was  no  business 
conference  on  out  at  Toledo;  no  need  for  his 
presence  there.  If  he  could  lay  hands  on  the  idiot 
who  had  sent  him  that  forged  telegram  —  well, 
the  angered  Mr.  Propbridge  indicated  with  a 
gesture  of  a  large  and  knobby  fist  what  he  would 
do  to  the  aforesaid  idiot. 

The  next  time  Mr.  Propbridge  was  haled  to 
the  broiling  Corn  Belt  he  made  very  sure  that 
the  warrant  was  genuine.  One  of  these  wild- 
goose  chases  a  summer  was  quite  enough  for  a 
man  with  a  size-nineteen  collar  and  a  forty-six- 
inch  waistband. 

The  next  time  befell  some  ten  days  after  the 
Propbridges  returned  from  the  shore  to  their 
thirty -thousand -dollars -a -year  apartment  on 
Upper  Park  Avenue.  The  very  fact  that  they 
did  live  in  an  apartment  and  that  they  did  spend 
a  good  part  of  their  time  there  would  stamp 
them  for  what  they  were  —  persons  not  yet  to 
be  included  among  the  really  fashionable  group. 
The  really  fashionable  maintained  large  homes 
which  they  occupied  when  they  came  to  town  to 
have  dental  work  done  or  to  launch  a  debutante 
daughter  into  soc'ety;  the  rest  of  the  year  they 
usually  were  elsewhere.  It  was  the  thing. 

Business  of  importance  sent  Mr.  Propbridge 
to  Detroit,  and  then  on  to  Chicago  and  Des 
[272]  ' 


1  O  ,  OO  O ' 


Moines.  On  a  certain  afternoon  he  caught  the 
Wolverine  Limited.  Almost  before  his  train  had 
passed  One  Hundred  and  Twenty -fifth  Street 
Mrs.  Propbridge  had  a  caller.  She  was  informed 
that  a  member  of  the  staff  of  that  live  paper, 
People  You  Know,  desired  to  see  her  for  a  few 
minutes.  Persons  of  social  consequence  or  per 
sons  who  craved  to  be  of  social  consequence  did 
not  often  deny  themselves  to  representatives  of 
People  You  Know.  Mrs.  Propbridge  told  the 
switchboard  girl  downstairs  to  tell  the  hallman 
to  invite  the  gentleman  to  come  up. 

He  proved  to  be  a  somewhat  older  man  than 
she  had  expected  to  see.  He  was  well  dressed 
enough,  but  about  him  was  something  hard  and 
forbidding,  almost  formidable  in  fact.  Yet  there 
was  a  soothing,  conciliatory  tone  in  his  voice 
when  he  spoke. 

"Mrs.  Propbridge,"  he  began,  "my  name  is 
Townsend.  I  am  one  of  the  editors  of  People 
You  Know.  I  might  have  sent  one  of  our  re 
porters  to  see  you,  but  in  a  matter  so  important 
—  and  so  delicate  as  this  one  is  —  I  felt  it  would 
be  better  if  I  came  personally  to  have  a  little  talk 
with  you  and  get  your  side  of  the  affair  for 
publication." 

"My  side  of  what  affair?"  she  asked,  puzzled. 

He  lifted  one  lip  in  a  cornerwise  smile. 

"Let  me  give  you  a  little  advice,  Mrs.  Prop- 
bridge,"  he  said.  "I've  had  a  lot  of  experience 
in  such  matters  as  these.  The  interested  parties 
will  be  better  off  if  they're  perfectly  frank  in 
[  273  ] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


talking  to  the  press.  Then  all  misunderstand 
ings  are  avoided  and  everybody  gets  a  fair  deal 
in  print.  Don't  you  agree  with  me  that  I  am 
right?" 

"You  may  be  right, "  she  said,  "but  I  haven't 
the  least  idea  what  you  are  talking  about. " 

"I  mean  your  trouble  with  your  husband  — 
if  you  force  me  to  speak  plainly;  I'd  like  to 
have  your  statement,  that's  all. " 

"But  I  haven't  had  any  trouble  with  my  hus 
band!"  she  said.  Her  amazement  made  her 
voice  shrill.  "My  husband  and  I  are  living 
together  in  perfect  happiness.  You've  made  a 
mistake." 

"No  chance,"  he  said,  and  suddenly  his  man 
ner  changed  from  the  sympathetic  to  the 
accusing.  "Mrs.  Propbridge,  we  have  exclusive 
advance  information  from  reliable  sources  —  a 
straight  tip  —  that  the  proof  against  you  is 
about  to  be  turned  over  to  your  husband  and 
we've  every  reason  to  believe  that  when  he  gets 
it  in  his  hands  he's  going  to  sue  you  for  divorce, 
naming  as  corespondent  a  certain  middle-aged 
man.  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  you  don't  know 
anything  about  that?" 

"Of  course  I  mean  to!  Why,  you're  crazy! 
You're  - 

"Wait  just  one  minute  please, "  he  interrupted 
the  distressed  lady.  "Wait  until  I  get  through 
telling  you  how  much  I  know  already;  then 
you'll  see  that  denials  won't  help  you  any.  As  a 
matter  of  fact  we're  ready  now  to  go  ahead  and 


10,000' 


spring  the  story  in  next  week's  issue,  but  I 
thought  it  was  only  fair  to  come  to  you  and  give 
you  a  chance  to  make  your  defense  in  print  — 
if  you  care  to  make  one." 

"I  still  tell  you  that  you've  made  a  terrible 
mistake,"  she  declared.  Her  anger  began  to 
stir  within  her,  as  indignation  succeeded  to  as 
tonishment.  "How  dare  you  come  here  accus 
ing  me  of  doing  anything  wrong!" 

"I'm  accusing  you  of  nothing.  I'm  only  going 
by  the  plain  evidence.  I  might  be  lying  to  you. 
Other  people  might  lie  to  you.  But,  madam, 
photographs  don't  lie.  That's  why  they're  the 
best  possible  evidence  in  a  divorce  court.  And 
I've  seen  the  evidence.  I've  got  it  in  my  pocket 
right  now." 

"Evidence  against  me?    Photographs  of  me?  " 

"Sure.  Photographs  of  you  and  the  gray- 
haired  party."  He  reached  in  a  breast  pocket 
and  brought  out  a  thin  sheaf  of  unmounted 
photographs  and  handed  them  to  her.  "Mrs. 
Propbridge,  just  take  a  look  at  these  and  then 
tell  me  if  you  blame  me  for  assuming  that  there's 
bound  to  be  trouble  when  your  husband  sees 
them?" 

She  looked,  and  her  twirling  brain  told  her  it 
was  all  a  nightmare,  but  her  eyes  told  her  it  was 
not.  Here  were  five  photographs,  enlarged  snap 
shots  apparently:  One,  a  profile  view,  showing 
her  standing  on  a  boardwalk,  her  hand  held  in 
the  hand  of  the  man  she  had  known  as  Valentine 
C.  Murrill;  one,  a  quartering  view,  revealing 
[275]  


SUNDRY      ACCOUNTS 

them  riding  together  in  a  wheel  chair,  their 
heads  close  together,  she  smiling  and  he  ap 
parently  whispering  something  of  a  pleasing  and 
confidential  nature  to  her,  the  posture  of  both 
almost  intimate;  one,  a  side  view,  showing  the 
pair  of  them  emerging  from  an  open-fronted 
cafe  —  she  recognized  the  f agade  of  the  place 
where  they  had  found  the  orangeades  so  disap 
pointing  —  and  in  this  picture  Mr.  Murrill  had 
been  caught  by  the  camera  as  he  was  saying 
something  of  seeming  mutual  interest,  for  she 
was  glancing  up  sidewise  at  him  and  he  had 
lowered  his  head  until  his  lips  almost  touched  her 
ear;  one,  showing  them  sitting  at  a  small  round 
table  with  a  wine  bottle  and  glasses  in  front  of 
them  and  behind  them  a  background  suggesting 
the  interior  of  a  rather  shabby  drinking  place, 
a  distinct  impression  of  sordidness  somehow 
conveyed;  and  one,  a  rear  view,  showing  them 
upon  a  bench  alongside  a  seemingly  deserted 
wooden  structure  of  some  sort,  and  in  this  one 
the  man  had  been  snapped  in  the  very  act  of 
putting  his  arms  about  her  and  drawing  her 
toward  him. 

That  was  all  —  merely  five  oblong  slips  of 
chemically  printed  paper,  and  yet  on  the  face  of 
them  they  told  a  damning  and  a  condemning 
story. 

She  stared  at  them,  she  who  was  absolutely 
innocent  of  thought  or  intent  of  wrong-doing, 
and  could  feel  the  fabric  of  her  domestic  life 
trembling  before  it  came  crashing  down. 
[276] 


I  t 


WORTH      1O,OOO 


"Oh,  but  this  is  too  horrible  for  words!"  the 
distressed  lady  cried  out.  "How  could  anybody 
have  been  so  cruel,  so  malicious,  as  to  follow  us 
and  waylay  us  and  catch  us  in  these  positions? 
It's  monstrous!" 

"Somebody  did  catch  you,  then,  in  com 
promising  attitudes  —  you  admit  that?" 

"You  twist  my  words  to  give  them  a  false 
meaning!"  she  exclaimed.  "You  are  trying  to 
trap  me  into  saying  something  that  would  put 
me  in  a  wrong  light.  I  can  explain  —  why, 
the  whole  thing  is  so  simple  when  you  under 
stand." 

"  Suppose  you  do  explain,  then.  Get  me  right, 
Mrs.  Propbridge  —  I'm  all  for  you  in  this  affair. 
I  want  to  give  you  the  best  of  it  from  every 
standpoint. " 

So  she  explained,  her  words  pouring  forth  in 
a  torrent.  She  told  him  in  such  details  as  she 
recalled  the  entire  history  of  her  meeting  with 
the  vanished  Mr.  Murrill  —  how  a  doctored 
telegram  sent  her  husband  away  and  left  her 
alone,  how  Murrill  had  accosted  her,  and  why 
and  what  followed  —  all  of  it  she  told  him,  with 
holding  nothing, 

He  waited  until  she  was  through.  Then  he 
sped  a  bolt,  watching  her  closely,  for  upon  the 
way  she  took  it  much,  from  his  viewpoint, 
depended. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "if  that's  the  way  this  thing 
happened  and  if  you've  told  your  husband  about 
it" —  he  dragged  his  words  just  a  trifle  —  "why 
[277] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


should  you  be  so  worried,  even  if  these  pictures 
should  reach  him?" 

Her  look  told  him  the  shot  had  struck  home. 
Inwardly  he  rejoiced,  knowing,  before  she  an 
swered,  what  her  answer  would  be. 

"But  I  didn't  tell  him,"  she  confessed, 
stricken  with  a  new  cause  for  concern.  "I  —  I 
forgot  to  tell  him. " 

"Oh,  you  forgot  to  tell  him?"  he  repeated. 
Now  suddenly  he  became  a  cross-examiner, 
snapping  his  questions  at  her,  catching  her  up 
sharply  in  her  replies.  "And  you  say  you  never 
saw  this  Mr.  Murrill  —  as  you  call  him  — before 
in  all  your  life?" 

"No." 

"And  you've  never  seen  the  mysterious 
stranger  since?" 

"There  was  nothing  mysterious  about  him, 
I  tell  you.  He  was  merely  interesting." 

"Anyhow,  you've  never  seen  him  since?" 

"No." 

"Nor  had  any  word  from  him  other  than  that 
telephone  talk  you  say  you  had  with  him?" 

"No." 

"Did  you  ever  make  any  inquiries  with  a  view 
to  finding  out  whether  there  was  such  a  person 
as  this  Mrs.  Beeman  Watrous?" 

"No;  why  should  I?" 

"That's  a  question  for  you  to  decide.  Did 
you  think  to  look  in  the  papers  to  see  whether 
General  Dunlap  had  really  been  taken  ill  on  a 

motor  trip?" . 

[278] 


1  O  ,  O  O  O 


"No." 

"Yet  he's  a  well-known  person.  Surely  you 
expected  the  papers  would  mention  his  illness?" 

"It  never  occurred  to  me  to  look.  I  tell  you 
there  was  nothing  wrong  about  it.  Why  do  you 
try  to  trip  me  up  so?  " 

"Excuse  me,  I'm  only  trying  to  help  you  out 
of  what  looks  like  a  pretty  bad  mess.  But  I've 
got  to  get  the  straight  of  it.  Let  me  run  over  the 
points  in  your  story:  No  sooner  do  you  land  in 
Gulf  Stream  City  than  your  husband  gets  a 
faked-up  telegram  and  goes  away?  And  you  are 
left  all  alone?  And  you  go  for  a  walk  all  by  your 
self?  And  a  man  you  never  laid  eyes  on  before 
comes  up  to  you  and  tells  you  that  you  look  a  lot 
like  a  friend  of  his,  a  certain  very  rich  widow, 
Mrs.  Watrous  —  somebody,  though,  that  I  for 
one  never  heard  of,  and  I  know  the  Social 
Register  from  cover  to  cover,  and  know  some 
thing  about  Wilmington  too.  And  on  the 
strength  of  your  imaginary  resemblance  to  an 
imaginary  somebody  he  introduced  himself  to 
you?  And  then  you  let  him  walk  with  you? 
And  you  let  him  whisper  pleasant  things  in 
your  ear?  Two  of  those  pictures  that  you've 
got  in  your  hand  prove  that.  And  you  let  him 
take  you  into  one  of  the  most  notorious  blind 
tigers  on  the  beach?  And  you  sit  there  with 
him  in  this  dump  —  this  place  with  a  shady 
reputation  - 

"I've  explained  to  you  how  that  happened. 
We  didn't  stay  there.    We  came  right  out. " 
[279] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


"Let  me  go  on,  please.  And  you  let  him  buy 
you  wine  there?" 

"I've  told  you  about  that  part,  too  —  how 
the  bottles  and  the  glasses  were  already  on  the 
table  when  we  sat  down. " 

"I'm  merely  going  by  what  the  photographs 
tell,  Mrs.  Propbridge.  I'm  merely  saying  to 
you  what  a  smart  divorce  lawyer  would  say  to 
you  if  ever  he  got  you  on  the  witness  stand; 
only  he'd  be  trying  to  convict  you  by  your  own 
words  and  I'm  trying  to  give  you  every  chance 
to  clear  yourself.  And  then  after  that  you  go 
and  sit  with  him  —  this  perfect  stranger  —  in 
a  lonely  place  alongside  a  deserted  bath  house 
and  nobody  else  in  sight?" 

"There  were  people  bathing  right  in  front  of 
us  all  the  time. " 

"Were  there?  Well,  take  a  look  at  Photo 
graph  Number  Five  and  see  if  it  shows  any 
bathers  in  sight.  And  he  slips  his  arm  around 
you  and  draws  you  to  him?" 

"I  explained  to  you  how  that  happened," 
protested  the  badgered,  desperate  woman.  "No 
matter  what  the  circumstances  seem  to  be,  I  did 
nothing  wrong,  I  tell  you." 

"All  right,  just  as  you  say.  Remember,  I'm 
taking  your  side  of  it;  I'm  trying  to  be  your 
friend.  But  here's  the  important  thing  for  you 
to  consider:  With  those  pictures  laid  before 
them  would  any  jury  on  earth  believe  your  side 
of  it?  Would  they  believe  you  had  no  hand  in 
sending  your  husband  that  faked-up  telegram? 
[280] 


1  O  ,  O  O  O  ' 


Would  they  believe  it  wasn't  a  trick  to  get  him 
away  so  you  could  keep  an  appointment  with 
this  man ?  Would  any  judge  believe  you ?  Would 
your  friends  believe  you?  Or  would  they  all  say 
that  they  never  heard  such  a  transparent  cock- 
and-bull  story  in  their  lives?" 

"Oh,  oh!"  she  cried  chokingly,  and  put  her 
face  in  her  hands.  Then  she  threw  up  her  head 
and  stared  at  him  out  of  her  miserable  eyes. 
"  Where  did  those  pictures  come  from?  You  say 
you  believe  in  me,  that  you  are  willing  to  help 
me.  Then  tell  me  where  they  came  from  and 
who  took  them?  And  how  did  you  manage  to 
get  hold  of  them?" 

His  baitings  had  carried  her  exactly  to  the 
desired  place  —  the  turning  point,  they  call  it  in 
the  vernacular  of  the  confidence  sharp.  The 
rest  should  be  easy. 

"Mrs.  Propbridge,"  he  said,  "you've  been 
pretty  frank  with  me.  I'll  be  equally  frank  with 
you.  Those  pictures  were  brought  to  our 
office  by  the  man  who  took  them.  I  have  his 
name  and  address,  but  am  not  at  liberty  to  tell 
them  to  anyone.  I  don't  know  what  his  motives 
were  in  taking  them;  we  did  not  ask  him  that 
either.  We  can't  afford  to  question  the  motives 
of  people  who  bring  us  these  exclusive  tips.  We 
pay  a  fancy  price  for  them  and  that  lets  us  out. 
Besides,  these  photographs  seemed  to  speak  for 
themselves.  So  we  paid  him  the  price  he  asked 
for  the  use  of  them.  Destroying  these  copies 
wouldn't  help  you  any.  That  man  still  has  the 
[281] 


SUNDRY      ACCOUNTS 


plates;  he  could  print  them  over  again.  The 
only  hope  you've  got  is  to  get  hold  of  those 
plates.  And  I'm  afraid  he'll  ask  a  big  price 
for  them." 

"How  big  a  price?" 

"That  I  couldn't  say  without  seeing  him. 
Knowing  the  sort  of  person  he  is,  my  guess  is 
that  he'd  expect  you  to  hand  him  over  a  good- 
sized  chunk  of  money  to  begin  with  —  as  a  proof 
of  your  intentions  to  do  business  with  him. 
You'd  have  to  pay  him  in  cash;  he'd  be  too  wise 
to  take  a  check.  And  then  he  might  want  so 
much  apiece  for  each  plate  or  he  might  insist  on 
your  paying  him  a  lump  sum  for  the  whole  lot. 
You  see,  what  he  evidently  expects  to  do  is  to 
sell  them  to  your  husband,  and  he'd  expect  you 
at  least  to  meet  the  price  your  husband  would 
have  to  pay.  Any  way  you  look  at  it  he's  got 
you  at  his  mercy  —  and,  as  I  see  it,  you'll  prob 
ably  have  to  come  to  his  terms  if  you  want  to 
keep  this  thing  a  secret." 

"Where  is  this  man?  You  keep  saying  you 
want  to  serve  me  —  can't  you  bring  him  to  me?  " 

"I'm  afraid  he  wouldn't  come.  If  he's  en 
gaged  in  a  shady  business  —  if  he's  cooked  up 
a  deliberate  scheme  to  trap  you  —  he  won't 
come  near  you.  That's  my  guess.  But  if  you 
are  willing  to  trust  me  to  act  as  your  represent 
ative  maybe  the  whole  thing  might  be  arranged 
and  no  one  except  us  ever  be  the  wiser  for  it. " 

Mrs.  Propbridge  being  an  average  woman  did 
what  the  average  woman,  thus  cruelly  circum- 
[282  ] 


10,000' 


stanced  and  sorely  frightened  and  half  frantic 
and  lacking  advice  from  honest  folk,  would  do. 
She  paid  and  she  paid  and  she  kept  on  paying. 
First  off,  it  appeared  the  paper  had  to  be  recom 
pensed  for  its  initial  outlay  and  for  various 
vaguely  explained  incidental  expenses  which  it 
had  incurred  in  connection  with  the  affair. 
Then,  through  Townsend,  the  unknown  prin 
cipal  demanded  that  a  larger  sum  should  be 
handed  over  as  an  evidence  of  good  faith  on  her 
part  before  he  would  consider  further  negotia 
tions.  This,  though,  turned  out  to  be  only 
the  beginning  of  the  extortion  processes. 

When,  on  this  pretext  and  that,  she  had  been 
mulcted  of  nearly  fourteen  thousand  dollars, 
when  her  personal  bank  account  had  been  ex 
hausted,  when  most  of  her  jewelry  was  secretly 
in  pawn,  when  still  she  had  not  yet  been  given 
the  telltale  plates,  but  daily  was  being  tortured 
by  threats  of  exposure  unless  she  surrendered 
yet  more  money,  poor  badgered  beleaguered 
little  Mrs.  Propbridge,  being  an  honest  and  a 
straightforward  woman,  took  the  course  she 
should  have  taken  at  the  outset.  She  went  to 
her  husband  and  she  told  him  the  truth.  And 
he  believed  her. 

He  did  not  stop  with  believing  her;  he  be 
stirred  himself.  He  had  money;  he  had  the 
strength  and  the  authority  which  money  gives. 
He  had  something  else  —  he  had  that  powerful, 
intangible  thing  which  among  police  officials 
and  in  the  inner  politics  of  city  governments  is 
[283] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


variously  known  as  a  pull  and  a  drag.  Straight 
way  he  invoked  it. 

Of  a  sudden  Chappy  Marr  was  aware  that  he 
had  made  a  grievous  mistake.  He  had  calculated 
to  garner  for  himself  a  fat  roll  of  the  Propbridge 
currency;  had  counted  upon  enjoying  a  con 
tinuing  source  of  income  for  so  long  as  the  wife 
continued  to  hand  over  hush  money.  Deduct 
the  cuts  which  went  to  Zach  Traynor,  alias 
Townsend,  for  playing  the  part  of  the  magazine 
editor,  and  to  Cheesy  Mike  Zaugbaum,  that 
camera  wizard  of  newspaper  staff  work  turned 
crook's  helper  —  Zaugbaum  it  was  who  had 
worked  the  trick  of  the  photographs  —  and  still 
the  major  share  of  the  spoils  due  him  ought, 
first  and  last,  to  run  into  five  gratifying  figures. 
On  this  he  confidently  had  figured.  He  had  not 
reckoned  into  the  equation  the  possibility  of 
invoking  against  him  the  Propbridge  pull  backed 
by  the  full  force  of  this  double-fisted,  vengeful 
millionaire's  rage.  Indeed  he  never  supposed 
that  there  might  be  any  such  pull.  And  here, 
practically  without  warning,  he  found  his  in 
fluence  arrayed  against  an  infinitely  stronger 
influence,  so  that  his  counted  for  considerably 
less  than  nothing  at  all. 

Still,  there  was  a  warning.  He  got  away  to 
Toronto.  Traynor  made  Chicago  and  went  into 
temporary  seclusion  there.  Cheesy  Zaugbaum 
lacked  the  luck  of  these  two.  As  soon  as  Mrs. 
Propbridge  had  described  the  ingratiating  Mr. 
Murrill  and  the  obliging  Mr.  Townsend  to  M.  J. 
[284] 


1  O  ,  O  O  O  ' 


Brock,  head  of  the  Brock  private-detective 
agency,  that  astute  but  commonplace-appearing 
gentleman  knew  whom  she  meant.  Knowing  so 
much,  it  was  not  hard  for  him  to  add  one  to  one 
and  get  three.  He  deduced  who  the  third 
member  of  the  triumvirate  must  be.  Mr.  Brock 
owed  his  preeminence  in  his  trade  to  one  out 
standing  faculty  — he  was  an  honest  man  who 
could  think  like  a  thief.  Three  hours  after  he 
concluded  his  first  interview  with  the  lady  one 
of  his  operatives  walked  up  behind  Cheesy  and 
tapped  him  on  the  shoulder  and  inquired  of  him 
whether  he  would  go  along  nice  and  quiet  for  a 
talk  with  the  boss  or  was  inclined  to  make  a  fuss 
about  it.  In  either  event,  so  Cheesy  was  as 
sured,  he.  could  have  his  wish  gratified.  And 
Cheesy,  who  had  the  heart  of  a  rabbit  —  a  rabbit 
feeding  on  other  folks'  cabbage,  but  a  timorous, 
nibbling  bunny  for  all  that  —  Cheesy,  he  went. 
In  Toronto  Marr  peaked  and  pined.  He 
probably  was  safe  enough  for  so  long  as  he  bided 
there;  there  had  been  no  newspaper  publicity, 
and  he  felt  reasonably  sure  that  openly,  at  least, 
the  aid  of  regular  police  departments  would  not 
be  set  in  motion  against  him;  so  he  put  the 
thoughts  of  arrest  and  extradition  and  such  like 
unpleasant  contingencies  out  of  his  mind.  But 
liT  old  N'York  was  his  proper  abiding  place. 
The  smell  of  its  streets  had  a  lure  for  him  which 
no  other  city's  streets  had.  His  crowd  was  there 
—  the  folk  who  spoke  his  tongue  and  played  his 
game.  And  there  the  gudgeons  on  which  his  sort 
[285] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


fed  schooled  the  thickest  and  carried  the  most 
savory  fat  on  their  bones  as  they  skittered  over 
the  asphaltum  shoals  of  the  Main  Stem. 

For  a  month,  emulating  Uncle  Remus'  Brer 
Fox,  he  lay  low,  resisting  the  gnawing  discontent 
that  kept  screening  delectable  visions  of  Broad 
way  and  the  Upper  Forties  and  Seventh  Avenue 
before  his  homesick  eyes.  It  was  a  real  nostalgia 
from  which  he  suffered.  He  endured  it,  though, 
with  what  patience  he  might  lest  a  worse  thing 
befall.  And  at  the  end  of  that  month  he  went 
back  to  the  big  town ;  an  overpowering  tempta 
tion  was  the  reason  for  his  going.  There  had 
arisen  a  chance  for  a  large  turnover  and  a  quick 
get-away  again,  with  an  attractively  large  sum 
to  stay  him  and  comfort  him  after  he  resumed 
his  enforced  exile.  An  emissary  from  the  Gul- 
wing  mob  ran  up  to  Toronto  and  dangled  the 
lure  before  his  eyes. 

Harbored  in  New  York  at  the  present  moment 
was  a  beautiful  prospect  —  a  supremely  credu 
lous  cattleman  from  the  Far  West,  who  had  been 
playing  the  curb  market.  A  crooks'  tipster  who 
was  a  clerk  in  a  bucket  shop  downtown  had  for 
a  price  passed  the  word  to  the  Gulwings,  and  the 
Gulwings  —  Sig  and  Alf  —  were  intentful  to 
strip  the  speculative  Westerner  before  the  curb 
took  from  him  the  delectable  core  of  his  bank 
roll.  But  the  Gulwing  organization,  complete  as 
it  is  in  most  essential  details,  lacked  in  its  per 
sonnel  for  the  moment  a  person  of  address  to 
undertake  the  steering  and  the  convincing  —  to 
[286] 


''WORTH    10,000' 


worm  a  way  into  the  good  graces  of  the  prospec 
tive  quarry;  to  find  out  approximately  about 
how  much  in  dollars  and  cents  he  might  reason 
ably  be  expected  to  yield,  and  then  to  stand  by 
in  the  pose  of  a  pretended  fellow  investor  and 
fellow  loser,  while  the  cleaning  up  of  the  plunger 
was  done  by  the  competent  but  crude-mannered 
Messrs.  Sigmund  and  Alfred  Gulwing  and  their 
associates.  For  the  important  role  of  the  con- 
vincer  Marr  was  suited  above  all  others.  It  was 
represented  to  him  that  he  could  slip  back  to 
town  and,  all  the  while  keeping  well  under  cover, 
rib  up  the  customer  to  go,  as  the  trade  term  has 
it,  and  then  withdraw  again  to  the  Dominion.  A 
price  was  fixed,  based  on  a  sliding  scale,  and 
Marr  returned  to  New  York. 

Three  days  from  the  day  he  reached  town 
the  Westerner,  whose  name  was  Hartridge, 
lunched  with  him  as  his  guest  at  the  Roychester, 
a  small,  discreetly  run  hotel  in  Forty-sixth  Street. 
After  luncheon  they  sat  down  in  the  lobby 
for  a  smoke.  For  good  and  sufficient  reasons 
Marr  preferred  as  quiet  a  spot  and  as  secluded 
a  one  as  the  lobby  of  the  hotel  might  offer.  He 
found  it  where  a  small  red-leather  sofa  built  for 
two  stood  in  a  sort  of  recess  formed  on  one  side 
by  a  jog  in  the  wall  and  on  the  other  side  by  the 
switchboard  and  the  two  booths  which  consti 
tuted  the  Roychester's  public  telephone  equip 
ment.  To  call  the  guest  rooms  one  made  use  of 
an  instrument  on  the  clerk's  desk,  farther  over 

to  the  left. 

[287] 


SUNDRY      ACCOUNTS 


To  this  retreat  Marr  guided  the  big  Oregonian. 
From  it  he  had  a  fairly  complete  view  of  the 
lobby.  This  was  essential  since  presently,  if 
things  went  well  or  if  they  did  not  go  well,  he 
must  privily  give  a  designated  signal  for  the 
benefit  of  a  Gulwing  underling,  a  lesser  member 
of  the  mob,  who  was  already  on  hand,  standing 
off  and  on  in  the  offing.  Sitting  there  Marr  was 
well  protected  from  the  view  of  persons  passing 
through,  bound  to  or  from  the  grill  room,  the 
desk  or  the  elevators.  This  also  was  as  it  should 
be.  Better  still,  he  was  practically  out  of  sight 
of  those  who  might  approach  the  telephone 
operator  to  enlist  her  services  in  securing  outside 
calls.  The  out  jutting  furniture  of  her  desk  and 
the  flanks  of  the  nearermost  pay  booth  hid  him 
from  them;  only  the  top  of  the  young  woman's 
head  was  visible  as  she  sat  ten  feet  away,  facing 
her  perforated  board. 

The  voices  of  her  patrons  came  to  him,  and 
her  voice  as  she  repeated  the  numbers  after 
them:  "Greenwich  978,  please." 

"Larchmont  54  party  J." 

"Worth  9009,  please,  miss." 

"Vanderbilt  100." 

And  so  on  and  so  forth,  in  a  steady  patter, 
like  raindrops  falling;  but  though  he  could  hear 
he  could  not  be  seen.  Altogether,  the  spot  was, 
for  his  own  purposes,  admirably  arranged. 

So  they  sat  and  smoked,  and  pretty  soon,  the 
occasion  and  the  conditions  and  the  time  being 
ripe,  Marr  outlined  to  his  new  friend  Hartridge, 
[288] 


1  O  ,  O  O  O  ' 


on  pledge  of  secrecy,  a  wonderfully  safe  and 
wonderfully  simple  plan  for  taking  its  ill-gotten 
money  away  from  a  Tenderloin  pool  room. 
Swiftly  he  sketched  in  the  details;  the  oppor 
tunity,  he  divulged  in  strict  confidence,  had  just 
come  to  him.  He  confessed  to  having  taken  a 
great  liking  to  Hartridge  during  their  short  ac 
quaintance;  Hartridge  had  impressed  him  as  one 
who  might  be  counted  upon  to  know  a  good 
thing  when  he  saw  it,  and  so,  inspired  by  these 
convictions,  he  was  going  to  give  Hartridge 
a  chance  to  join  him  in  the  plunge  and  share 
with  him  the  juicy  proceeds.  Besides,  the  more 
money  risked  the  greater  the  killing.  He  him 
self  had  certain  funds  in  hands,  but  more 
funds  were  needed  if  a  real  fortune  was  to  be 
realized. 

There  was  need,  though,  for  prompt  decision 
on  the  part  of  all  concerned,  because  that  very 
afternoon  —  in  fact,  within  that  same  hour  — 
there  in  the  Roychester  he  was  to  meet,  by  ap 
pointment,  the  conniving  manager  of  an  uptown 
branch  office  of  the  telegraph  company,  who 
would  cooperate  in  the  undertaking  and  upon 
whose  good  offices  in  withholding  flashed  race 
results  at  Belmont  Park  until  his  fellow  con 
spirators,  acting  on  the  information,  could  get 
their  bets  down  upon  the  winners,  depended  the 
success  of  the  venture.  Only,  strictly  speaking, 
it  would  not  be  a  venture  at  all,  but  a  moral 
certainty,  a  cinch,  the  surest  of  all  sure  things. 
Guaranties  against  mischance  entailing  loss 
[289] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


would  be  provided;  he  could  promise  his  friend 
Hartridge  that;  and  the  telegraph  manager, 
when  he  came  shortly,  would  add  further  proof. 

The  question  then  was:  Would  Hartridge 
join  him  as  a  partner?  And  if  so,  about  how 
much,  in  round  figures,  would  Hartridge  be  will 
ing  to  put  up?  He  must  know  this  in  advance 
because  he  was  prepared  to  match  Hartridge's 
investment  dollar  for  dollar. 

And  at  that  Hartridge,  to  Marr's  most  sincere 
discomfiture,  shook  his  head. 

"I'll  tell  you  how  it  is  with  me,"  said  Hart 
ridge.  "These  broker  fellows  downtown  have 
been  touchin'  me  up  purty  hard.  I  guess  this 
here  New  York  game  ain't  exactly  my  game. 
I'm  aimin'  to  close  up  what  little  deals  I've  still 
got  on  here  and  beat  it  back  to  God's  country 
while  I've  still  got  a  shirt  on  my  back.  I'm 
much  obliged  to  you,  Markham,  for  wantin' 
to  take  me  into  your  scheme.  It  sounds  good 
the  way  you  tell  it,  but  it  seems  like  ever'thing 
round  this  burg  sounds  good  till  you  test  it  out — 
and  so  I  guess  you  better  count  me  out  and  find 
yourself  a  partner  somewheres  else." 

There  was  definiteness  in  his  refusal ;  the  shake 
of  his  head  emphasized  it  too.  Marr's  role 
should  have  been  the  persuasive,  the  insistent, 
the  argumentative,  the  cajoling;  but  Marr  was 
distinctly  out  of  temper. 

Here  he  had  ventured  into  danger  to  play  for 
a  fat  purse  and  all  he  would  get  for  his  trouble 
and  his  pains  and  the  risk  he  had  run  would  be 
[290] 


1  O,  000  ' 


just  those  things — pains  and  trouble  and  risk  — 
these,  and  nothing  more  nourishing. 

"Oh,  very  well  then,  Hartridge,"  he  said 
angrily,  "if  you  haven't  any  confidence  in  me  — 
if  you  can't  see  that  this  is  a  play  that  naturally 
can't  go  wrong  —  why,  we'll  let  it  drop." 

"Oh,  I've  got  confidence  in  you — "  began 
Hartridge,  but  Marr,  no  patience  left  in  him, 
cut  him  short. 

"Looks  like  it,  doesn't  it?  "  he  snapped.  "For 
get  it!  Let's  talk  about  the  weather. " 

He  lifted  his  straw  hat  as  though  to  ease  its 
pressure  upon  his  head  and  then  settled  it  well 
down  over  his  eyes.  This  was  the  sign  to  the 
Gulwings'  messenger,  watching  him  covertly 
from  behind  a  newspaper  over  on  the  far  side  of 
the  lobby,  that  the  plant  had  failed.  The  signal 
he  had  so  confidently  expected  to  give  - —  a  trick 
of  relighting  his  cigar  and  flipping  the  match  into 
the  air  —  would  have  conveyed  to  the  watcher 
the  information  that  all  augured  well.  The 
latter's  job  then  would  have  been  to  get  up  from 
his  chair  and  step  outside  and  bear  the  word  to 
Sig  Gulwing,  who,  letter-perfect  in  the  part 
of  the  conspiring  telegraph  manager,  would 
promptly  enter  and  present  himself  to  Marr, 
and  by  Marr  be  introduced  to  the  Westerner. 
The  hat-shifting  device  had  been  devised  in  the 
remote  contingency  of  failure  on  Marr's  part  to 
win  over  the  chosen  victim.  Plainly  the  col 
lapse  of  the  plot  had  been  totally  unexpected 
by  the  messenger.  Over  his  paper  he  stared  at 
[  291  ] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 

Marr  until  Marr  repeated  the  gesture.  Then, 
fully  convinced  now  that  there  had  been  no 
mistake,  the  messenger  arose  and  headed  for  the 
door,  the  whole  thing  —  signaling,  duplicated 
signaling  and  all  —  having  taken  very  much  less 
time  for  its  action  than  has  here  been  required  to 
describe  it. 

The  signal  bearer  had  taken  perhaps  five  steps 
when  Hartridge  spoke  words  which  instantly 
filled  Marr  with  regret  that  he  had  been  so  im 
petuously  prompt  to  take  a  no  for  a  no. 

"Say,  hold  your  hosses,  Markham,"  said 
Hartridge  contritely.  ' *  Don't  be  in  such  a  hurry ! 
Come  to  think  about  it,  I  might  go  so  far  as  to 
risk  altogether  as  much,  say,  as  eight  or  ten 
thousand  dollars  in  this  scheme  of  yours — I 
don't  want  to  be  a  piker. " 

In  the  hundredth  part  of  a  second  Marr's 
mind  reacted;  his  brain  was  galvanized  into 
speedy  action.  Ten  thousand  wasn't  very 
much  —  not  nearly  so  much  as  he  had  counted 
on  —  still,  ten  thousand  dollars  was  ten  thou 
sand  dollars;  besides,  if  the  Gul wings  did  their 
work  cannily  the  ten  thousand  ought  to  be 
merely  a  starter,  an  initiation  fee,  really,  for  the 
victim.  Once  he  was  enmeshed,  trust  Sig  and 
Alf  to  trim  him  to  his  underwear;  the  machinery 
of  the  wire-tapping  game  was  geared  for  just 
that. 

He  must  stop  the  departing  messenger  then, 
must  make  him  understand  that  the  wrong  sign 
had  been  given  and  that  the  fish  was  nibbling 
[292] 


1  O  ,  O  O  O  ' 


the  bait.  Yet  the  messenger's  back  was  to 
them;  ten  steps,  fifteen  steps  more,  and  he 
would  be  out  of  the  door. 

For  Marr  suddenly  to  hail  a  man  he  was  sup 
posed  not  to  know  might  be  fatal;  almost  surely 
at  this  critical  moment  it  would  stir  up  sus 
picion  in  Hartridge's  mind.  Yet  some  way, 
somehow,  at  once,  he  must  stop  the  word  bearer. 
But  how?  That  was  it  —  how? 

Ah,  he  had  it!  In  the  fraction  of  a  moment 
he  had  it.  It  came  to  him  now,  fully  formed,  the 
shape  of  it  conjured  up  out  of  that  jumble  of 
words  which  had  been  flowing  to  him  from  the 
telephone  desk  all  the  while  he  had  been  sitting 
there  and  which  had  registered  subconsciously  in 
his  quick  brain.  The  pause,  naturally  spaced, 
which  fell  between  Hartridge's  'bout-faced  con 
cession  and  Marr's  reply,  was  not  unduly 
lengthened,  yet  in  that  flash  of  time  Marr  had 
analyzed  the  puzzle  of  the  situation  and  had 
found  the  answer  to  it. 

"Bully,  Hartridge!"  he  exclaimed.  "You'll 
never  regret  it.  Our  man  ought  to  be  here  any 
minute  now.  ...  By  Jove!  That  reminds 
me — I  meant  to  telephone  for  some  tickets  for 
to-night's  Follies  —  you're  going  with  me  as  my 
guest.  Just  a  moment!" 

He  got  on  his  feet  and  as  he  came  out  of  the 
corner  and  still  was  eight  feet  distant  from  the 
telephone  girl,  he  called  out  loudly,  as  a  man 
might  call  whose  hurried  anxiety  to  get  an 
important  number  made  him  careless  of  the 
[293]  " 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


pitch  of  his  voice:  "Worth  10,000!  Worth 
10,000!" 

He  feared  to  look  toward  the  door  —  yet. 
For  the  moment  he  must  seem  concerned  only 
with  the  hasty  business  of  telephoning. 

Annoyed  by  his  shouting,  the  girl  raised  her 
head  and  stared  at  him  as  he  came  toward  her. 

"What's  the  excitement?"  she  demanded. 

With  enhanced  vehemence  he  answered,  put 
ting  on  the  key  words  all  the  emphasis  he  dared 
employ: 

"I  should  think  anybody  in  hearing  could 
understand  what  I  said  and  what  I  meant  — 
Worth  10  flOOr 

He  was  alongside  her  now;  he  could  risk  a 
glance  toward  the  door.  He  looked,  and  his  heart 
rejoiced  inside  of  him,  for  the  messenger  had 
swung  about,  as  had  half  a  dozen  others,  all 
arrested  by  the  harshness  of  his  words  —  and 
the  messenger  was  staring  at  him.  Marr  gave 
the  correct  signal  —  with  quick  well-simulated 
nervousness  drew  a  loose  match  from  his  waist 
coat  pocket,  struck  it,  applied  it  to  his  cigar, 
then  flipped  the  still  burning  match  halfway 
across  the  floor.  No  need  for  him  again  to  look 
—  he  knew  the  artifice  had  succeeded. 

"Here's  your  number,"  said  the  affronted 
young  woman.  With  a  vicious  little  slam  she 
stuck  a  metal  plug  into  its  proper  hole. 

Marr  had  not  the  least  idea  what  concern 
or  what  individual  owned  Worth  10,000  for 
a  telephone  number.  Nor  did  it  concern  him 

[294]  


1  O, 000  ' 


now.  Even  so,  he  must  of  course  carry  out  the 
pretense  which  so  well  had  served  him  in  the 
emergency.  He  entered  the  booth,  leaving  the 
door  open  for  Hartridge's  benefit. 

"Hello,  hello!"  he  called  into  the  transmitter. 
"This  is  V.  C.  Marksham  speaking.  I  want  to 
speak  to" — he  uttered  the  first  name  which 
popped  into  his  mind  —  "to  George  Spillane. 
Want  to  order  some  tickets  for  a  show  to-night." 
He  paused  a  moment  for  the  sake  of  the  verities; 
then,  paying  no  heed  to  the  confused  rejoinder 
coming  to  him  from  the  other  end  of  the  wire, 
and  improvising  to  round  out  his  play,  went  on : 
"What's  that?  ....  Not  there?  Oh,  very 

well!  I'll  call  him  later No,  never 

mind,  Spillane's  the  man  I  want.  I'll  call 
again. " 

He  hung  up  the  receiver.  Out  of  the  tail  of 
his  eye  as  he  hung  it  up  he  saw  Sig  Gulwing 
just  entering  the  hotel,  in  proper  disguise  for 
the  character  of  the  district  telegraph  manager 
with  a  grudge  against  pool  rooms  and  a  plan  for 
making  enough  at  one  coup  to  enable  him  to 
quit  his  present  job ;  the  job  was  mythical,  and 
the  grudge,  too  —  bits  merely  of  the  fraudulent 
drama  now  about  to  be  played  —  but  surely 
Gulwing  was  most  solid  and  dependable  and 
plausible  looking.  His  make-up  was  perfect. 
To  get  here  so  soon  after  receiving  the  cue  he 
must  have  been  awaiting  the  word  just  outside 
the  entrance.  Gulwing  was  smart  but  he  was 
not  so  smart  as  Marr  —  Marr  exulted  to  him- 
[  295  ] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


self.  In  high  good  humor,  he  dropped  a  dollar 
bill  at  the  girl's  elbow. 

"Pay  for  the  call  out  of  that,  miss,  and  keep 
the  change, "  he  said  genially.  "Sorry  I  was  so 
boisterous  just  now." 

Thirty  minutes  later,  still  radiating  gratifica 
tion,  Marr  stood  at  the  cigar  stand  making  a 
discriminating  choice  of  the  best  in  the  humidor 
of  imported  goods.  Gulwing  and  Hartridge 
were  over  there  on  the  sofa,  cheek  by  jowl,  and 
all  was  going  well. 

Half  aloud,  to  himself,  he  said,  smiling  in 
prime  content:  "Well,  I  guess  I'm  bad!" 

"I  guess  you  are!"  said  a  voice  right  in  his 
ear;  "and  you're  due  to  be  worse,  Chappy,  old 
boy  —  much  worse ! " 

The  smile  slipped.  He  turned  his  head  and 
looked  into  the  complacent,  chubby  face  and 
the  pleased  eyes  of  M.  J.  Brock,  head  of  Brock's 
Detective  Agency —  the  man  of  all  men  in  this 
world  he  wished  least  to  see.  For  once,  anyhow, 
in  his  life  Marr  was  shaken,  and  showed  it. 

"That's  all  right,  Chappy, "  said  Brock  sooth 
ingly,  rocking  his  short  plump  figure  on  his 
heels;  "there  won't  be  any  rough  stuff.  I've 
got  a  cop  off  the  corner  who's  waiting  outside  if 
I  should  need  him  —  in  case  of  a  jam  —  but  'I 
guess  we  won't  need  him,  will  we?  You'll  go 
along  with  me  nice  and  friendly  in  a  taxicab, 
won't  you?"  He  flirted  his  thumb  over  his 
shoulder.  "And  you  needn't  bother  about  Gul 
wing  either.  I've  seen  him  —  saw  him  as  soon 
[296] 


1  O  ,  O  O  O  ' 


as  I  came  in.  I  guess  he'll  be  seeing  me  in  a 
minute,  too,  and  then  he'll  suddenly  remember 
where  it  was  he  left  his  umbrella  and  take  it  on 
the  hop." 

Marr  said  not  a  word.  Brock  rattled  on  in 
high  spirits,  still  maintaining  that  cat-with-a- 
mouse  attitude  which  was  characteristic  of  him. 

"Never  mind  worrying  about  old  pal  Gul- 
wing  —  I  don't  want  him  now.  You're  the 
one  you'd  better  be  worrying  about;  because 
that's  going  to  be  a  mighty  long  taxi  ride  that 
you're  going  to  take  with  me,  Chappy  —  fifteen 
minutes  to  get  there,  say,  and  anywhere  from 
five  to  ten  years  to  get  back  —  or  I  miss 
my  guess.  .  .  .  Yes,  Chappy,  you're  nailed 
with  the  goods  this  time.  Propbridge  is  going 
through;  his  wife  too.  They'll  go  to  court; 
they'll  shove  the  case.  And  Cheesy  Zaugbaum 
has  come  clean.  Oh,  I  guess  it's  curtains  for 
you  all  right,  all  right." 

"You  don't  exactly  hate  yourself,  do  you?" 
gibed  Marr.  "Sort  of  pleased  with  yourself?" 

"Not  so  much  pleased  with  myself  as  dis 
appointed  in  you,  Chappy,"  countered  the 
exultant  Brock.  "I  figured  you  were  different 
from  the  rest  of  your  crowd,  maybe;  but  it 
turns  out  you're  like  all  the  others  —  you  will 
do  your  thinking  in  a  groove. "  He  shook  his 
head  in  mock  sorrow.  "Chappy,  tell  me  —  not 
that  it  makes  any  difference  particularly,  but 
just  to  satisfy  my  curiosity  —  curiosity  being 
my  business,  as  you  might  say  —  what  number 
[297] 


SUNDRY      ACCOUNTS 

was  it  you  called  up  from  here  about  thirty 
minutes  back?  Come  on.  The  young  lady  over 
yonder  will  tell  me  if  you  don't.  Was  it  Worth 
10,000?" 

"Yes,"  said  Marr,  "it  was." 

"I  thought  so,"  said  Brock.  "I  guessed  as 
much.  But  say  Chappy,  that's  the  trunk  num 
ber  of  the  Herald.  Before  this  you  never  were 
the  one  to  try  to  break  into  the  newspapers  on 
your  own  hook.  What  did  you  want  with  that 
number?" 

"That's  my  business,"  said  Marr. 

"Have  it  your  way,"  assented  Brock  with 
ironic  mildness.  "Now,  Chappy,  follow  me  a 
minute  and  you'll  see  how  you  dished  your 
own  beans:  You  call  up  Worth  10,000  — that's 
a  private  matter,  as  you  say.  But  Central 
gets  the  call  twisted  and  gives  you  another 
number  —  that's  a  mistake.  And  the  number 
she  happens  to  give  you  is  the  number  of  my  new 
branch  office  down  in  the  financial  district - 
that's  an  accident.  And  the  fellow  who  answers 
the  call  at  my  shop  happens  to  be  Costigan, 
my  chief  assistant,  who's  been  working  on  the 
Propbridge  case  for  five  weeks  now  —  and  that's 
a  coincidence.  He  doesn't  recognize  your  voice 
over  the  wire —  that  would  be  luck.  But  when, 
like  a  saphead,  you  pull  your  new  moniker,  but 
with  the  same  old  initials  hitched  to  it,  and  when 
on  top  of  that  you  ask  for  George  Spillane,  which 
is  Cheesy  by  his  most  popular  alias  —  when  you 
do  these  things,  why  Chappy,  it's  your  own  fault. 
[298] 


1  O  ,  O  O  O 

"Because  Costigan  is  on  then,  bigger  than  a 
house.  You've  tipped  him  your  hand,  see? 
And  with  our  connnections  it's  easy  —  and 
quick  —  for  Costigan  to  trace  the  call  to  this 
hotel.  And  inside  of  two  minutes  after  that  he 
has  me  on  the  wire  at  my  uptown  office  over  here 
in  West  Fortieth.  And  here  I  am;  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  I've  been  here  all  of  fifteen  minutes. 

"It  all  proves  one  thing  to  me,  Chappy. 
You're  wiser  than  the  run  of  'em,  but  you've  got 
your  weak  spot,  and  now  I  know  what  it  is: 
You  think  in  a  groove,  Chappy,  and  this  time, 
by  looking  at  the  far  end  of  the  groove,  you  can 
see  little  old  Warble-Twice-on-the-Hudson  loom 
ing  up.  And  you  won't  have  to  look  very  hard 
to  see  it,  either.  .  .  .  Well,  I  see  Gulwing 
has  taken  a  tumble  to  himself  and  has  gone  on 
a  run  to  look  for  his  umbrella.  Suppose  we  start 
on  our  little  taxi  ride,  old  groove  thinker?  " 


[299] 


CHAPTER  VII 
MR.  LOBEL'S  APOPLEXY 


THE  real  purpose  of  this  is  to  tell  about 
Mr.  Lobel's  attack  of  apoplexy.     What 
comes  before  must  necessarily  be  in  its 
nature   preliminary    and    preparatory, 
leading  up  to  the  climactic  stroke  which  leaves 
the  distinguished  victim   stretched   upon   the 
bed  of  affliction. 

First  let  us  introduce  our  principal.  Reader, 
meet  Mr.  Max  Lobel,  president  of  Lobel 
Masterfilms,  Inc.,  also  its  founder,  its  chief 
stockholder  and  its  general  manager.  He  is  a 
short,  broad,  thick,  globular  man  and  a  bald 
one,  wearing  gold-rimmed  spectacles,  carrying 
a  gold-headed  cane  and  using  a  private  gold- 
mounted  toothpick  after  meals.  His  collars 
are  of  that  old-fashioned  open-faced  kind  such 
as  our  fathers  and  Mr.  John  D.  Rockefeller, 
Sr.,  used  to  wear;  collars  rearing  at  the  back 
but  shorn  widely  away  in  front  to  show  two 
things — namely,  the  Adam's  apple  and  that 
Mr.  Lobel  is  conservative.  But  for  his  neck- 
[300  ] 


MR.      LOBEL      S     APOPLEXY 

wear  he  patronizes  those  shops  where  ties  are 
exclusively  referred  to  as  scarves  and  cost  from 
five  dollars  apiece  up,  which  proves  also  he  is 
progressive  and  keeps  abreast  of  the  times. 
When  he  walks  he  favors  his  feet.  Mostly, 
though,  he  rides  in  as  good  a  car  as  domestic 
currency  can  buy  in  foreign  marts. 

Aside  from  his  consuming  desire  to  turn  out 
those  surpassing  achievements  of  the  cellular- 
cinema  art  known  as  Lobel's  Masterfilms,  he 
has  in  life  two  great  passions,  one  personal  in  its 
character,  the  other  national  in  its  scope — the 
first  a  craving  for  fancy  waistcoats,  the  second 
a  yearning  to  see  the  name  of  Max  Lobel  in 
print  as  often  as  possible  and  in  as  large  letters 
as  likewise  is  possible;  and  for  either  of  these 
is  a  plausible  explanation.  Mr.  Lobel  has  a 
figure  excellently  shaped  for  presenting  the 
patternings  of  a  fanciful  stomacher  to  the  world 
and  up  until  a  few  years  ago  there  were  few 
occasions  when  he  might  hope  to  see  the  name 
Lobel  in  print.  For,  know  you,  Mr.  Lobel  has 
not  always  been  in  the  moving-picture  busi 
ness.  Nobody  in  the  moving-picture  business 
has  always  been  in  the  moving-picture  business 
— excepting  some  of  the  child  wonders  under 
ten  years  of  age.  And  ten  years  ago  our  hero 
was  the  M.  Lobel  Company,  cloak  and  suit 
jobbers  in  rather  an  inconspicuous  Eastern 
town. 

What  was  true  of  him  as  regards  his  com- 

paratively   recent   advent   into   the  producing 
__ 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


and  distributing  fields  was  true  of  his  major 
associates.  Back  in  1911  the  vice  president 
and  second  in  command,  Mr.  F.  X.  Quinlan, 
moved  upward  into  a  struggling  infantile 
industry  via  the  stepping-stone  of  what  in  the 
vernacular  of  his  former  calling  is  known  as  a 
mitt  joint — summers  at  Coney,  winters  in 
store  pitches — where  he  guided  the  professional 
destinies  of  Madame  Zaharat,  the  Egyptian 
seeress,  in  private,  then  as  now,  Mrs.  F,  X. 
Quinlan  nee  Clardy. 

The  treasurer  and  secretary,  Mr.  Simeon 
Geltfin,  had  once  upon  a  time  been  proprietor 
of  the  Ne  Plus  Ultra  Misfit  Clothing  Parlors 
at  Utica,  New  York,  a  place  where  secondhand 
habiliments,  scoured  and  ironed,  dangled  lur- 
ingly  in  show  windows  bearing  such  enticing 
labels  as  "Tailor's  Sample— Nobby— $9.80, " 
"Bargain — Take  Me  Home  For  $5.60,"  and 
"These  Trousers  Were  Uncalled  For— $2.75." 

The  premier  director,  Mr.  Bertram  Colfax, 
numbered  not  one  but  two  chrysalis  changes  in 
his  career.  In  the  grub  stage,  as  it  were,  he 
had  begun  life  as  Lemuel  Sims,  a  very  grubby 
grub  indeed,  becoming  Colfax  at  the  same  time 
he  became  property  man  for  a  repertoire  troupe 
playing  county-fair  weeks  in  the  Middle  West. 

As  for  the  scenario  editor  and  continuity 
writer,  he  in  a  prior  condition  of  life  had  solicited 
advertisements  for  a  trade  journal.  So  it 
went  right  down  the  line. 

At  the  time  of  the  beginning  of  this  narrative 
[302  ] 


MR.      LOBEL      S      APOPLEXY 

Lobel  Masterfilms,  Inc.,  had  attained  an 
eminence  of  what  might  be  called  fair-to- 
medium  prominence  in  the  moving-picture 
field.  In  other  words,  it  now  was  able  to  pay 
its  stars  salaries  running  up  into  the  multiples 
of  tens  of  thousands  of  dollars  a  year  and  the 
bank  which  carried  its  paper  had  not  yet  felt 
justified  in  installing  a  chartered  accountant  in 
the  home  offices  to  check  the  finances  and  collect 
the  interest  on  the  loans  outstanding.  Before 
reaching  this  position  the  concern  had  passed 
through  nearly  all  the  customary  intervening 
stages.  Nearly  a  decade  rearward,  back  in 
the  dark  ages  of  the  filmic  cosmos,  the  Jurassic 
Period  of  pictures,  so  to  speak,  this  little  group 
of  pathfinders  tracking  under  the  chieftainship 
of  Mr.  Lobel  into  almost  uncharted  wilds 
of  artistic  endeavor  had  dabbled  in  slap-stick 
one  reelers  featuring  the  plastic  pie  and  the 
treacherous  seltzer  siphon,  also  the  trick  stair 
case,  the  educated  mustache  and  the  per 
forming  doormat. 

Next — following  along  the  line  of  least  re 
sistance — the  adventurers  went  in  more  or  less 
extensively  for  wild-western  dramas  replete 
with  stagecoach  robberies  and  abounding  in 
hair  pants.  If  the  head  bad  man — not  the 
secondary  bad  man  who  stayed  bad  all  through, 
or  the  tertiary  bad  man  who  was  fatally  ex 
tinguished  with  gun-fire  in  Reel  Two,  but  the 
chief,  or  primary,  bad  man  who  reformed  and 
married  Little  Nell,  the  unspoiled  child  of 
[303] 


SUNDRY      ACCOUNTS 


Death  Valley — wore  the  smartest  frontier  get- 
up  of  current  year's  vintage  that  the  Chicago 
mail-order  houses  could  turn  out;  if  Little 
Nell's  father,  appearing  contemporaneously, 
dressed  according  to  the  mode  laid  down  for 
Forty-niners  by  such  indubitable  authorities 
as  Bret  Harte;  if  the  sheriff  stalked  in  and  out 
of  lens  range  attired  as  a  Mississippi  River 
gambler  was  popularly  supposed  to  have  been 
attired  in  the  period  1860  to  1875;  and  if  finally 
the  cavalry  troopers  from  the  near-by  army 
post  sported  the  wide  hats  and  khaki  shirts 
which  came  into  governmental  vogue  about 
the  time  of  the  Spanish  War,  all  very  well  and 
good.  The  action  was  everything;  the  sartorial 
accessories  were  as  they  might  be  and  were  and 
frequently  still  are. 

Along  here  there  intruded  a  season  when  the 
Lobel  shop  tentatively  experimented  with 
costume  dramas — the  Prisoner  of  Chillon  wear 
ing  the  conventional  black  and  white  in  alter 
nating  stripes  of  a  Georgia  chain  gang  and  doing 
the  old  Sing  Sing  lock  step  and  retiring  for  the 
night  to  his  donjon  cell  with  a  set  of  shiny  and 
rather  modern -looking  leg  irons  on  his  ankles; 
Mary  Queen  of  Scots  and  Catharine  de'  Medici 
in  costumes  strikingly  similar;  Oliver  Goldsmith 
in  Sir  Walter  Raleigh's  neck  ruff  and  Captain 
Kidd's  jack  boots. 

But  this  season  endured  not  for  long.  Cos 
tume  stuff  was  nix.  It  was  not  what  the 
public  wanted.  It  was  over  their  heads.  Mr. 
[304]  


MR.    LOBEL'S    APOPLEXY 

Lobel  himself  said  so.  Wake  him  up  in  the 
middle  of  the  night  and  he  could  tell  you  exactly 
what  the  public  did  and  did  not  want.  Divin 
ing  the  popular  will  amounted  with  him  to  a 
gift;  it  approximated  an  exact  art;  really  it 
formed  the  corner  stone  of  his  success.  Like 
wise  he  knew — but  this  knowledge  perhaps  had 
come  to  him  partly  by  experience  rather  than 
altogether  by  intuition — that  historical  ten 
reelers  dealing  with  epochal  events  in  the  life 
of  our  own  people  were  entirely  unsuited  for 
general  consumption. 

When  this  particular  topic  untactfully  was 
broached  in  his  presence  Mr.  Lobel,  recalling 
the  fate  of  the  elaborate  feature  entitled  Let 
Freedom  Ring,  had  been  known  to  sputter 
violently  and  vehemently.  Upon  this  produc 
tion — now  abiding  as  a  memory  only,  yet  a 
memory  bitter  as  aloes — he  had  spared  neither 
expense  nor  pains,  even  going  so  far  as  per 
sonally  to  direct  the  filming  of  all  the  principal 
scenes.  And  to  what  ends?  Captious  critics, 
including  those  who  wrote  for  the  daily  press 
and  those  who  merely  sent  in  offensive  letters 
— college  professors  and  such  like  cheap  high 
brows — had  raised  yawping  voices  to  point 
out  that  Paul  Revere  galloping  along  the  pre- 
Revolutionary  turnpike  to  spread  the  alarm 
passed  en  route  two  garages  and  one  electric 
power  house;  that  Washington  crossing  the 
Delaware  stood  in  the  bow  of  his  skiff  half 
shrouded  in  an  American  flag  bearing  forty- 
'  [305] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


eight  stars  upon  its  field  of  blue;  that  Andrew 
Jackson's  riflemen  filing  out  from  New  Orleans 
to  take  station  behind  their  cotton-bale  breast 
works  marched  for  some  distance  beneath  a 
network  of  trolley  wires ;  that  Abraham  Lincoln 
signing  the  Emancipation  Proclamation  did  so 
while  seated  at  a  desk  in  a  room  which  contained 
in  addition  to  Lincoln  and  the  desk  and  the 
Proclamation  a  typewriter  and  a  Persian  rug; 
that  at  Manila  Bay  Admiral  Dewey  wore  spats 
and  a  wrist  watch. 

But  these  primitive  adventurings,  these 
earlier  pioneering  quests  into  the  realm  of  the 
speculative  were  all  in  limbo  behind  them,  all 
wiped  off  the  slate,  in  part  forgiven,  in  a  measure 
forgotten.  Since  that  primitive  beginning  and 
those  formulative  middle  periods  Lobel  Master- 
films  had  found  their  field,  and  having  found  it, 
now  plowed  and  tilled  it.  To  those  familiar 
with  the  rise  and  the  ever-forward  movement 
of  this,  now  the  fourth  largest  industry  in  the 
civilized  globe — or  is  it  the  third? — it  suffici 
ently  will  fix  the  stage  of  evolutionary  develop 
ment  attained  by  this  component  unit  of  that 
industry  when  I  state  that  Lobel  Masterfilms 
now  dealt  preponderantly  with  vampires.  To 
be  sure,  it  continued  to  handle  such  side  lines 
as  taffy-haired  ingenues  from  the  country,  set 
adrift  among  the  wiles  and  pitfalls  of  a  cruel 
city;  such  incidentals  as  soft-pie  comickers  and 
chin-whiskered  by-Hectors;  such  necessary  by- 
products  as  rarely  beautiful  he- juveniles  with 
[306] 


MR.    LOBEL'S    APOPLEXY 

plush  eyelashes  and  the  hair  combed  slickly 
back  off  the  forehead  in  the  approved  Hudson 
seal  effect — splendid,  manly  youths  these,  who 
might  have  dodged  a  draft  or  two  but  never  yet 
had  flinched  from  before  the  camera's  aiming 
muzzle.  But  even  though  it  had  to  be  con 
ceded  that  Goldilockses  and  Prince  Charmings 
endure  and  that  while  drolls  and  jesters  may 
come  and  go,  pies  are  permanent  and  stale  not, 
neither  do  they  wither;  still,  and  with  all  that, 
such  like  as  these  were,  in  the  Lobel  scheme 
of  things,  merely  so  many  side  lines  and  inci 
dentals  and  by-products  devised  and  designed 
to  fatten  out  a  program. 

Where  Mr.  Lobel  excelled  was  in  the  vamp 
stuff.  Even  his  competitors  admitted  it  the 
while  they  vainly  strove  to  rival  him.  In  this, 
his  own  chosen  realm  of  exploration  and  con 
quest  he  stood  supremely  alone;  a  monarch 
anointed  with  the  holy  oils  of  superiority,  coro- 
neted  with  success's  glittering  diadem.  Look 
at  his  Woman  of  a  Million  Sins!  Look  at  his 
Satan's  Stepchild,  or  How  Human  Souls  are 
Dragged  Down  to  Hell,  in  six  reels!  Look  at 
A  Daughter  of  Darkness !  Look  at  The  Wrecker 
of  Lives!  Look  at  The  Spider  Lady,  or  The 
Net  Where  Men  Were  the  Flies!  Look  at  Fair 
of  Face  Yet  Black  of  Heart!  All  of  them 
his,  all  box-office  best  bets  and  all  still  going 
strong ! 

Moreover  by  now  Lobel  Masterfilms  had  pro- 
gressed  to  that  milestone  on  the  path  of  pro- 
[307]         


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


gress  and  enterprise  where  genuine  live  authors 
— guys  that  wrote  regular  books — frequently 
furnished  vehicles  for  stardom's  regal  usages. 
By  purchase,  upon  the  basis  of  so  much  cash 
or — as  the  case  might  be — so  little  cash  down 
on  the  signing  of  the  contract  and  the  promise 
of  so  much  more — often  very  very  much  more 
— to  be  paid  in  royalties  out  of  accrued  net 
profits,  the  rights  to  a  published  work  would  be 
acquired.  Its  name,  say,  was  A  Commonplace 
Person,  which  promptly  would  be  changed  in 
executive  conclave  to  The  Cataract  of  Destiny, 
or  perhaps  Fate's  Plaything,  or  in  any  event 
some  good  catchy  title  which  would  look  well 
in  electrics  and  on  three  sheets. 

This  important  point  having  been  decided 
on,  Mr.  Ab  Connors,  the  scenario  editor,  would 
take  the  script  in  hand  to  labor  and  bring  forth 
the  screen  adaptation.  If  the  principal  char 
acter  in  the  work,  as  originally  evolved  by  her 
creator,  was  the  daughter  of  a  storekeeper  in  a 
small  town  in  Indiana  who  ran  away  from 
home  mid  went  to  Chicago  to  learn  the  milli 
nery  business,  he,  wielding  a  ruthless  but  gifted 
blue  pencil,  would  speedily  transform  her  into 
the  ebon-hearted  heiress  of  a  Klondyke  million 
aire,  an  angel  without  but  a  harpy  within,  and 
after  opening  up  Reel  One  with  scenes  in  a 
Yukon  dance  hall  speedily  would  move  all  the 
important  characters  to  New  York,  where  the 
plot  thickened  so  fast  that  only  a  succession  of 
fade-outs  and  fade-ins,  close-ups  and  cut-backs 
[  308  ] 


MR.    LOBEL'S    APOPLEXY 

saved  it  from  clabbering  right  on  Mr.  Connors' 
hands. 

The  rest  would  be  largely  a  matter  of  con 
tinuity  and  after  that  there  was  nothing  to 
worry  about  except  picking  out  the  cast  and 
the  locations  and  building  the  sets  and  start 
ing  to  shoot  and  mayhap  detailing  a  head  office 
boy  to  stall  off  the  author  in  case  that  poor 
boob  came  butting  in  kicking  about  changes  in 
his  story  or  squawking  about  overdue  royalty 
statements  or  something.  Anyhow,  what  did 
he  know — what  could  he  be  expected  to  know 
— about  continuity  or  what  the  public  wanted 
or  what  the  limitations  and  the  possibilities  of 
the  screen  were?  He  merely  was  the  poor  fish 
who'd  wrote  the  book  and  he  should  ought  to 
be  grateful  that  a  fellow  with  a  real  noodle  had 
took  his  stuff  and  cut  all  that  dull  descriptive 
junk  out  of  it  and  stuck  some  pep  and  action 
and  punch  and  zip  into  the  thing  and  wrote 
some  live  snappy  subtitles,  instead  of  coming 
round  every  little  while,  like  he  was,  horning  in 
and  beefing  all  over  the  place. 

And  besides,  wasn't  he  going  to  have  his 
name  printed  in  all  the  advertising  matter  and 
flashed  on  the  screen,  too,  in  letters  nearly  a 
fifth  as  tall  as  the  letters  of  Mr.  Lobel's  name 
and  nearly  one-third  as  tall  as  the  name  of  the 
star  and  nearly  one-half  as  tall  as  the  name  of 
the  director  and  nearly — if  not  quite — as  tall 
as  the  name  of  the  camera  man,  and  so  get  a 
lot  of  absolutely  free  advertising  that  would  be 
[309] 


SUNDRY      ACCOUNTS 


worth  thousands  of  dollars  to  him  and  start 
people  all  over  the  country  to  hearing  about 
him?  Certainly  he  was!  And  yet,  with  all 
that,  was  there  any  satisfying  some  of  these 
cheap  ginks?  The  answer  was  that  there  was 
not. 

There  was  never  any  trouble,  though,  about 
casting  the  principal  role.  That  was  easy — a 
matter  of  natural  selection.  If  it  could  be 
played  vampishly  from  the  ground  up,  and  it 
usually  could — trust  Mr.  Connors  for  that — it 
went  without  question  to  Vida  Monte,  greatest 
of  all  the  luminaries  in  the  Lobel  constellation 
and  by  universal  acknowledgment  the  best  vam 
pire  in  the  business.  In  vampiring  Vida  Monte 
it  was  who  led;  others  imitatively  followed. 
Compared  with  her  these  envying  lady  copy 
cats  were  as  pale  paprikas  are  to  the  real  ta 
basco.  Five  pictures  she  had  done  for  Lobel 
Masterfilms  since  placing  herself  under  Lobel's 
management  and  a  Lobel  contract,  all  of  them 
overpowering  knock-outs,  sensations,  sure-fire 
hits.  On  the  sixth  she  now  was  at  work  and 
her  proud  employer  in  conversation  and  in  an 
nouncements  to  the  trade  stood  sponsor  for  the 
pledge  that  in  its  filming  Monte  literally  would 
out-Monte  Monte. 

Making  his  word  good,  he  took  over  volun 
teer  supervision  of  the  main  scenes.  His  high- 
domed  forehead  glistening  with  sweat,  his  spec 
tacles  aflame  like  twin  burning  glasses,  his  coat 
off,  his  collar  off,  his  waistcoat  off,  he  snorted 


MR.    LOBEL'S    APOPLEXY 

and  churned,  a  ninety-horse  dynamo  of  a  little 
fat  man,  through  the  hot  glary  studio,  demand 
ing  this  improvement,  detecting  that  defect, 
calling  for  this,  that  or  the  other  perfect  thing 
in  a  voice  which  would  have  detained  the  ad 
miring  ear  of  an  experienced  bull  whacker.  Be 
fore  him  Josephson,  the  little  camera  man, 
quailed.  From  his  path  extra  people  departed, 
fleeing  headlong;  and  in  his  presence  property 
men  were  as  though  they  were  not  and  never 
had  been.  Out  of  the  hands  of  Bertram  Col- 
fax,  born  Sims,  he  wrenched  a  megaphone  and 
through  it  he  bellowed: 

"Put  more  punch  in  it,  Monte — that's  what 
I'm  asking  you  for — the  punch!  Choke  her, 
Harcourt!  Choke  him  right  back,  Monte! 
Now-w-w  then,  clinch!  Clinch  and  hang  on! 
Good !  And  now  the  kiss !  You  know,  Monte, 
the  long  kiss — the  genuwine  Monte  kiss!  Oh, 
if  you  love  me,  Monte,  give  me  footage  on  that 
kiss!  That's  it— hold  it!  Hold  it!  Keep  on 
holding  it!" 

"But,  Mr.  Lobel,  now,"  protested  Colfax, 
born  a  Sims  but  living  it  down  and  feeling  that 
never  more  than  at  this  minute,  when  rudely 
the  steersman's  helm  had  been  snatched  from 
his  grasp,  was  there  greater  need  that  he  should 
be  a  Colfax  through  and  through — "but,  Mr. 
Lobel,  it  was  my  idea  that  up  to  this  point  any 
way  the  action  should  be  played  with  restraint 
to  sort  of  prepare  the  way  for — 

"What  do  you  mean  restraint?" 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


"Well,  I  thought  to  emphasize  what  comes 
later — for  a  sort  of  comparative  value — that 
if  we  were  just  a  little  subtle  at  the  begin 
ning— 

"Sufficient,  Coif  ax!  Listen!  Don't  come 
talking  to  me  about  no  sub  ties!  When  you're 
working  the  supporting  members  of  the  cast 
you  maybe  could  stick  in  some  subtles  once  in 
a  while  to  salve  them  censors,  but  so  far  as 
Monte  is  concerned  you  leave  'em  out!" 

"But— but- 

" Don't  but  me  any  buts!  Listen!  Ain't  I 
taken  my  paralyzed  oath  that  this  here  picture 
should  make  all  the  other  vamp  pictures  which 
ever  were  taken  look  like  pikers?  I  have! 
Listen !  For  Monte,  the  way  I  feel,  I  shouldn't 
care  if  she  don't  do  a  single  subtle  in  the  whole 
damn  picture." 

He  had  taken  his  paralyzed  oath  and  he  kept 
it.  It  was  a  wonderful  story.  The  queen  of 
the  apaches,  ruling  the  Parisian  underworld 
by  her  fire,  her  beauty,  her  courage,  accepts 
German  gold  to  betray  her  country,  and  attempts 
by  siren  wiles  to  seduce  from  the  path  of  duty 
Capt.  Stuyvesant  Schuyler  of  the  U.  S.  A.  gen 
eral  staff;  almost  succeeds  too  because  of  his 
blind  passion  for  this  glorious,  sinful  creature.  At 
the  crucial  moment,  when  about  to  surrender 
to  his  Delilah  secrets  which  would  destroy  the 
entire  Allied  cause  and  open  the  gates  of  Paris 
to  the  conquering  foe,  he  is  saved  by  a  vision 
of  his  sainted,  fade-in-and-fade-out  mother's 


MR.    LOBEL'S    APOPLEXY 

face.  Overcome  with  remorse,  he  resigns  his 
commission,  and  fleeing  from  temptation  re 
turns  to  America,  a  broken-hearted  man; 
proves  heart  is  broken  by  constantly  pressing 
clenched  hand  to  left  breast  as  though  to  pre 
vent  pieces  from  slipping  down  into  the  ab 
dominal  cavity.  Distress  of  the  apache  queen 
on  finding  her  intended  victim  gone.  Suddenly 
a  real  love,  not  the  love  of  the  wanton,  but  a 
purer,  deeper  emotion  wakens  in  her  breast. 
Close-up  showing  muscular  reflexes  produced 
upon  the  human  face  by  wakening  processes  in 
the  heart. 

Quitting  the  gay  life,  she  follows  him  to  Land 
of  Free.  Finds  him  about  to  marry  his  sweet 
heart  of  childhood,  a  New  York  society  girl 
worth  uncounted  millions  but  just  middling 
looking.  Prompt  bust-up  of  childhood  sweet 
heart's  romance.  Abandonment  of  social  posi 
tion,  wealth,  everything  by  Schuyler,  who  de 
clares  he  will  make  the  stranger  his  bride — ac 
companying  subtitle,  "What  should  we  care 
what  the  world  may  say?  For  after  all,  love  is 
all!"  Discovery  on  day  before  marriage  of 
papers  proving  that  Lolita — that's  the  lady 
apache's  name — is  really  Schuyler's  half  sister, 
due  to  carryings-on  of  Schuyler's  late  father  as 
a  young  art  student  in  Paris  with  Lolita' s 
mother,  a  famous  gypsy  model.  Renunciation 
by  Lolita  of  Schuyler.  Her  suicide  by  imbibing 
poison  from  secret  receptacle  in  ring.  Schuyler, 
after  registering  copious  grief,  ree'nters  Ameri- 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 

can  Army  under  assumed  name  as  a  private  in 
the  ranks.  Returns  to  battlefield  in  time  to 
take  part  in  decisive  action  of  the  war.  All 
the  officers  in  his  brigade  above  the  rank  of 
corporal  having  apparently  been  killed  by  one 
devastating  blast  of  high  explosive,  he  assumes 
command  and  leads  dauntless  charge  of  the 
heavy  artillery  through  the  Hindenburg  Line. 
Is  made  a  colonel  on  the  spot.  Rides  up  Fifth 
Avenue  alongside  of  Pershing  in  grand  trium 
phant  parade  of  home-coming  First  Division, 
carrying  a  large  flag  and  occasionally  chatting 
pleasantly  with  Pershing.  On  eve  of  marriage 
to  childhood's  sweetheart,  who  remains  faith 
ful,  he  goes  to  lonely  spot  where  Lolita  lies 
buried  and  places  upon  the  silent  mound  her 
favorite  flower,  a  single  long-stemmed  tiger  lily. 
Fade  out — finish ! 

Artistically,  picturesquely,  from  the  stand 
point  of  timeliness,  from  the  standpoint  of  vam- 
pirishness,  from  any  standpoint  at  all,  it  sat 
isfied  fully  every  demand.  It  was  one  succes 
sion  of  thrilling,  gripping,  heart-lifting  scenes 
set  amid  vividly  contrasting  surroundings — the 
lowest  dive  in  all  Paris;  the  citadel  at  Verdun; 
grand  ballroom  of  the  Schuyler  mansion  at 
Newport;  the  Place  Vend6me  on  a  day  when 
it  was  entirely  unoccupied  except  by  moving- 
picture  actors;  Fifth  Avenue  on  its  most  gala 
occasion — these  were  but  a  few  samples.  The 
subtitles  fairly  hissed  to  the  sibilant  swishing 
of  such  words  as  traitress,  temptress,  tigress 


MR.      LOBEL     S     APOPLEXY 

and  sorceress.  And  the  name  of  it — you'd  never 
guess — the  name  of  it  was  The  She-Demon's 
Doom!  When  Mr.  Lobel  spoke  those  words 
inspired  he  literally  took  them  up  in  his  arms 
and  fondled  them  and  kissed  them  on  the  tem 
ples.  And  why  not?  They  were  his  own  brain 
children. 

He  had  kept  his  paralyzed  word  and  he  could 
prove  it.  For  because  this  Vida  Monte  was 
one  of  those  mimetic  pieces  of  flesh  which,  with 
out  any  special  mental  cooperation,  may  alter 
the  body,  the  face,  the  muscles,  the  expression, 
the  very  look  out  of  the  eyes,  to  suit  the  de 
mands  of  prompters  and  teachers;  because  of 
the  plan  of  direction  so  powerfully  engineered 
by  the  master  mind  of  Lobel  and,  under  Lobel, 
the  lesser  mind  of  Coif  ax,  born  Sims;  because 
of  the  very  nature  of  the  role  of  Lolita  the 
abandoned,  this  picture  was  more  daring,  more 
sensual,  more  filled  up  with  voluptuous  sugges 
tion,  with  coiling,  clinging,  writhing  snakiness, 
with  rampant,  naked  sexuality — in  short  and 
in  fine  was  more  vampirishly  vampiratious  than 
this,  the  greatest  of  all  modern  mediums  for  the 
education,  the  moral  uplift  and  the  entertain 
ment  of  the  masses,  had  ever  known. 

And  then  one  week  to  the  day  after  Mr. 
Lobel  shot  the  last  scene  she  up  and  died  on 
him. 

That  is  to  say,  a  woman  named  Glassman,  a 
Hungarian  by  birth,  in  age  thirty-two  years, 
widowed  and  without  children  or  known  next 
[315] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 

______ — — — — — — — — — — — — 

of  kin,  died  in  a  small  bungalow  in  a  small 
town  up  in  the  coast  range  north  of  Los  Ange 
les.  When  the  picture  was  done  and  Vida 
Monte  took  off  the  barbaric  trappings  and  the 
heavy  paste  jewels  and  the  clinging  reptilian 
half  gowns  of  the  role  she  played,  with  them 
she  took  off  and  laid  aside  the  animal  emotion 
alism,  the  theatricalistic  fever  and  fervor,  the 
passion  and  the  lure  that  professionally  made 
up  Vida  Monte,  movie  star.  She  took  off  even 
the  very  aspect  of  herself  as  the  show  shop  and 
as  patrons  of  the  cinemas  knew  her;  and  she 
put  on  a  simple  traveling  gown  and  she  tucked 
her  black  hair  up  in  coils  beneath  a  severely 
plain  hat  and  she  became  what  really  she  was 
and  always  had  been — a  quiet,  self-contained, 
frugal  and — except  for  her  splendid  eyes,  her 
fine  figure  and  her  full  mobile  mouth — a  not 
particularly  striking-looking  woman,  by  name 
Sarah  Glassman,  which  was,  in  fact,  her  name; 
and  quite  alone  she  got  on  a  train  and  she  went 
up  into  the  foothills  to  a  tiny  bungalow  which 
she  had  rented  there  for  a  month  or  so  to  live 
alone,  to  do  her  own  simple  housekeeping,  to 
sew  and  to  read  and  to  rest. 

It  was  the  day  after  the  taking  of  the  last 
segment  of  the  picture  that  she  went  away.  It 
was  four  days  later  that  she  sickened  of  the 
Spanish  influenza,  so  called.  It  was  not  Span 
ish  and  not  influenza,  though  by  any  other 
name  it  would  have  been  as  deadly  in  its  dev- 
astating  sweep  across  this  country.  And  it  was 
[316]  ~" 


MR.      LOBEL      S     APOPLEXY 

within  forty-eight  hours  after  that,  on  a  No 
vember  afternoon,  that  word  came  to  the  Lo- 
bel  plant  that  she  was  dead.  Down  there  they 
had  not  known  even  that  she  was  sick. 

"The  doctor  in  that  there  little  jay  town  up 
there  by  the  name  Hamletsburg  is  the  one  which 
just  gets  me  on  the  long-distance  telephone  and 
tells  me  that  she  died  maybe  half  an  hour  ago." 

Mr.  Lobel  in  his  private  office  was  telling  it 
to  Vice  President  Quinlan  and  Secretary-Treas 
urer  Geltfin,  the  only  two  among  his  associates 
that  his  messenger  had  been  able  to  find  about 
the  executive  department  at  the  moment.  He 
continued: 

"Coming  like  a  complete  shock,  you  could 
'a'  knocked  me  down  with  a  feather,  I  assure 
you.  For  a  minute  I  couldn't  believe  it.  This 
doctor  he  has  to  say  it  to  me  twice  before  I  get 
it  into  my  head.  Shocking — huh?  Sudden — 
huh?  Awful — what?  You  bet  you!  That  poor 
girl,  for  her  my  heart  is  bleeding.  Dead  and 
gone  like  that,  with  absolutely  practically  no 
warning!  It  don't  seem  possible !  Taken  down 
day  before  yesterday,  the  doctor  says,  and  com 
menced  getting  from  bad  to  worse  right  away. 
And  this  morning  she  goes  out  of  her  head  and 
at  two-forty-five  this  afternoon  all  of  a  sudden 
her  heart  gives  out  on  her  and  she  is  dead  be 
fore  anybody  knows  it.  Awful,  awful!" 

Mr.  Lobel  wagged  a  mournful  poll. 

"More  than  awful — actually  it  is  horrify- 
ing!"  quoth  Mr.  Geltfin.  Visibly  at  least  his 
[  317  ] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


distress  seemed  greater  than  the  distress  of 
either  of  the  others.  "All  off  alone  up  there 
by  herself  in  some  little  rube  town  it  must 
come  to  her!  Maybe  if  she  had  been  down 
here  with  specialists  and  surgeons  and  nurses 
and  all  she  would  'a'  been  saved.  Too  bad,  too 
bad!  People  got  no  business  going  away  from 
a  big  town!  Me,  I  get  nervous  even  on  a 
motor  trip  in  the  country  and— 

"Everything  possible  which  could  be  done 
was  done,"  resumed  Mr.  Lobel.  "So  you  don't 
need  you  should  worry  there,  Geltfin.  The 
doctor  tells  me  he  can't  get  no  regular  trained 
nurse  on  account  there  is  so  much  sickness  from 
this  flu  and  no  regular  nurses  there  anyway, 
but  he  tells  me  he  brings  in  his  wife  which  she 
understands  nursing  and  he  says  the  wife  sticks 
right  there  day  and  night  and  gives  every  at 
tention.  There  ain't  nothing  we  should  re 
proach  ourselves  about,  and  besides  we  didn't 
know  even  she  was  sick — nobody  knew. 

"Dead  and  gone,  poor  girl,  and  not  one  week 
ago — six  days,  if  I  got  to  be  exact — she  is  sit 
ting  right  there  in  that  same  seat  where  you're 
sitting  now,  Geltfin,  looking  just  as  natural  and 
healthy  as  what  you  look,  Geltfin;  looking  just 
as  if  nothing  is  ever  going  to  happen  to  her." 

Mr.  Geltfin  had  hastily  risen  and  moved 
nearer  the  outer  door. 

"An  awful  thing— that  flu!"  he  declared. 
"Lobel,  do  you  think  maybe  she  could  'a'  had 

the  germs  of  it  on  her  then?" 

[318] 


MR.      LOBEL      S     APOPLEXY 

"Don't  be  a  coward,  Geltfin!"  rebuked  his 
senior  severely.  "Look  at  me  how  I  am  not 
frightened,  and  yet  it  was  me  she  seen  last,  not 
you!  Besides,  only  to-day  I  am  reading  where 
that  big  doctor  in  Cincinnati,  Ohio — Silver- 
water — says  it  is  not  a  disease  which  you  could 
catch  from  somebody  else  until  after  they  have 
actually  got  down  sick  with  it.  Yes,  sir,  she 
sits  right  there  telling  me  good -by.  'Mr.  Lo- 
bel,'  she  says  to  me — I  had  just  handed  her 
her  check — 'Mr.  Lobel,'  she  says,  'always  to 
you/  she  says,  'I  should  be  grateful.  Always 
to  you,'  she  says,  'I  should  give  thanks  that 
two  years  ago  when  I  am  practically  compara 
tively  unknown  you  should  'a'  given  me  my 
big  chance.'  In  them  very  words  she  says  it, 
and  me  setting  here  at  this  desk  listening  at 
her  while  she  said  so! 

"Well,  I  ain't  lost  no  time,  boys.  Before 
even  I  sent  to  find  you  I  already  got  busy. 
I've  got  Appel  starting  for  up  there  in  half  an 
hour  in  my  car  to  take  charge  of  everything 
and  with  orders  to  spare  no  expense.  The 
funeral  what  I  am  going  to  give  that  girl! 
Well,  she  deserves  it.  Always  a  hard  worker, 
always  on  the  job,  always  she  minds  her  own 
business,  always  she  saves  her  money,  always 
a  perfect  lady,  never  throwing  any  of  these  here 
temperamentals,  never  going  off  in  any  of  these 
here  highsterics,  never  making  a  kick  if  some 
thing  goes  wrong  because  it  happens  I  ain't  on 

the  lot  to  run  things,  never — " 

[319] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


It  threatened  to  become  a  soliloquy.  This 
time  it  was  Quinlan  who  interrupted : 

"You  said  it  all,  Lobel,  and  it's  no  need  that 
you  should  go  on  saying  it  any  more.  The  main 
points,  I  take  it,  are  that  we're  all  sorry  and 
that  we've  lost  one  swell  big  asset  by  her  dying 
— only  it's  lucky  for  us  she  didn't  take  ill  before 
we  got  through  shooting  The  She-Demon." 

"Lucky?  Huh!  Actually,  lucky  ain't  the 
right  word  for  it!"  said  the  president.  "When 
I  think  of  the  fix  we  should  'a'  been  in  if  she 
hadn't  finished  up  the  picture  first,  I  assure 
you,  boys,  it  gives  me  the  shivers.  Right  here 
and  now  in  the  middle  of  being  sorry  it  gives 
me  the  shivers!" 

"It  does,  does  it?"  There  was  something  so 
ominous  in  Mr.  Geltfin's  sadly  ironic  remark — 
something  in  tone  and  accent  so  lugubriously 
foreboding  that  his  hearers  swung  about  to 
stare  at  him.  "It  does,  does  it?  Well,  all 
what  I've  got  to  say  is,  Lobel,  you've  got  some 
shivers  coming  to  you!  We've  all  got  some 
shivers  coming  to  us!  Having  this  girl  die  on 
us  is  bad  business!" 

"Sure  it  is,"  agreed  the  head,  "but  it  might 
be  worse.  There's  one  awful  big  salary  cut  off 
the  pay  roll  and  if  we  can't  have  her  with  us 
no  longer  there's  nobody  else  can  have  her. 
And  the  profits  from  that  last  picture  should 
ought  to  be  something  positively  enormous — 
stupendous — sensational.  Listen!  I  bet  you 

that  from  the  hour  we  release — " 

[  320] 


MR.      LOBEL      S     APOPLEXY 

"You  ain't  going  to  release!"  broke  in  Gelt- 
fin,  his  wizen  features  sharpening  into  a  peaky 
mask  of  grief. 

" Don't  talk  foolishness!"  snapped  Mr.  Lo- 
bel.  "For  why  shouldn't  we  be  going  to  re 
lease?" 

"That's  it— why?"  Mr.  Quinlan  seconded 
the  demand. 

"Because  you  wouldn't  dare  do  it!"  In  his 
desire  to  make  clear  his  point  Mr.  Geltfin  fairly 
shoveled  the  words  out  of  himself,  bringing 
them  forth  overlapping  one  another  like  shin 
gles  on  a  roof.  "Because  the  public  wouldn't 
stand  for  it!  Always  you  brag,  Lobel,  that 
you  know  what  the  public  want!  Well  then, 
would  the  public  stand  for  a  picture  where  a 
good,  decent,  straight  girl  that's  dead  and  will 
soon  be  in  her  grave  is  for  six  reels  doing  all 
them  suggestive  vampire  stunts  like  what  you 
yourself,  Lobel,  made  her  do?  Would  the  pub 
lic  stand  for  calling  a  dead  woman  names  like 
she-demon?  They  would  not — not  in  a  thou 
sand  years — and  you  should  both  know  it  with 
out  I  should  have  to  tell  you!  With  some 
pretty  rough  things  we  could  get  by,  but  with 
that  thing  we  could  never  get  by !  The  public, 
I  tell  you,  would  not  stand  for  it.  No,  sir; 
when  that  girl  died  the  picture  died  with  her. 
You  just  think  it  over  once!" 

Out  of  popped  eyes  he  glared  at  them.  They 
glared  at  him,  then  they  looked  at  each  other. 
Slowly  Mr.  Lobel's  head  drooped  forward  as 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


though  an  unseen  hand  pressed  against  the 
back  of  his  neck.  Quinlan  casting  his  eyes 
downward  traced  with  one  toe  the  pattern  of 
the  rug  under  his  feet. 

On  top  of  one  sudden  blow,  heavy  and  hard 
to  bear,  another  now  had  followed.  Since 
Lobel  had  become  one  of  the  topnotchers  with 
a  reputation  to  maintain,  expenses  had  been 
climbing  by  high  jumps,  but  receipts  had  not 
kept  pace  with  expenses.  There  were  the  vast 
salaries  which  even  the  lesser  drawing  cards 
among  the  stars  now  demanded  —  and  got. 
There  were  war  taxes,  excess  profit  taxes,  amuse 
ment  taxes.  There  was  to  be  included  in  the 
reckoning  the  untimely  fate  of  Let  Freedom 
Ring,  a  vastly  costly  thing  and  quickly  laughed 
to  death,  yet  a  smarting  memory  still.  Its 
failure  had  put  a  crimp  in  the  edge  of  the  ex 
chequer.  This  stroke  would  run  a  wide  fluting 
of  deficit  right  through  the  middle  of  it. 

The  pall  of  silence  lasted  no  longer  than  it 
has  here  taken  to  describe  how  it  fell  and  en 
veloped  them.  Mr.  Geltfin  broke  the  silence 
without  lifting  the  prevalent  gloom.  Indeed 
his  words  but  depressingly  served  to  darken  it 
to  a  very  hue  of  midnight. 

"Besides,"  he  added,  "there  is  anyhow  an 
other  reason.  We  know  what  a  nice  clean  girl 
she  was  in  private  life.  We  know  that  all  them 
wild  romance  stories  about  her  was  cooked  up 
in  the  press  department  to  make  the  suckers 
believe  that  both  on  and  off  the  screen  she  was 


MR.    LOBEL'S    APOPLEXY 

the  same.  But  she  wasn't,  and  so  I  for  one 
should  be  afraid  that  if  we  put  that  fillum  out 
she'd  come  back  from  the  dead  to  stop  it!" 

He  sank  his  voice,  glancing  apprehensively 
over  his  shoulder. 

"Lobel,  you  wouldn't  dare  do  it!" 

"Lobel,"  said  Quinlan,  "he's  right!  We 
wouldn't  dare  do  it!" 

"Quinlan,"  admitted  Lobel,  "it's  right— I 
wouldn't  dare  do  it." 

In  that  same  instant  of  his  confession,  though, 
Mr.  Lobel  bounded  out  of  his  chair,  magically 
changing  from  a  dumpy  static  figure  of  woe 
into  the  dynamo  of  energy  and  resourcefulness 
the  glassed-in  studios  and  the  out-of-door  loca 
tions  knew. 

"I  got  it!"  he  whooped.  "I  got  it!"  He 
threw  himself  at  an  inner  door  of  the  executive 
suite  and  jerked  it  open.  "Appel,"  he  shouted, 
"don't  start  yet!  I  got  more  instructions  still 
for  you.  And  say,  Appel,  you  ain't  seen  no 
body  but  only  Quinlan  and  Geltfin — eh?  You 
ain't  told  nobody  only  just  them?  Good !  Well, 
don't!  Don't  telephone  nobody!  Don't  speak 
a  word  to  nobody!  Don't  move  from  where 
you  are!" 

He  closed  the  door  and  stood  against  it  as 
though  to  hold  his  private  secretary  a  close 
prisoner  within,  and  faced  his  amazed  partners. 

"It's  a  cinch!"  he  proclaimed  to  them.  "I 
just  this  minute  thought  it  up  myself.  If  I 
must  say  it  myself,  always  in  a  big  emergency 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


I  can  think  fast.  Listen!  Nobody  ain't  going 
to  know  Monte  is  dead;  not  for  a  year,  not 
maybe  for  two  years;  not  until  this  last  big 
picture  is  old  and  worn  out;  not  until  we  get 
good  and  ready  they  should  know.  Vida  Monte, 
she  goes  right  on  living  till  we  say  the  word." 

"But— but- 

"Wait,  wait,  can't  you?  If  I  must  do  all  the 
quick  thinking  for  this  shop  shouldn't  I  some 
times  get  a  word  in  sideways?  What  I'm  tell 
ing  you,  if  you'll  please  let  me,  is  this:  The 
girl  is  dead  all  right!  But  nobody  knows  it 
only  me  and  you,  Quinlan,  and  you,  Geltfin, 
and  Appel  in  this  next  room  here.  Even  the 
doctor  up  there  at  Hamletsburg  he  don't  know 
it  and  his  wife  she  don't  know  it  and  nobody  in 
all  that  town  knows  it.  And  why  don't  they 
know?  Because  they  think  only  it  is  a  woman 
named  Sarah  Glassman  that  is  dead.  Actually 
that  sickness  no  doubt  changed  her  so  that 
even  if  them  rubes  ever  go  to  see  high-class 
feature  fillums  there  didn't  nobody  recognize 
her.  If  they  didn't  suspect  nothing  when  she 
was  alive,  for  why  should  they  suspect  some 
thing  now  she  is  dead?  They  shouldn't  and 
they  won't  and  they  can't! 

"What  give  me  the  idea  was,  I  just  remem 
bered  that  when  the  doctor  called  me  up  he 
spoke  only  the  name  Glassman,  not  the  name 
Monte.  He  tells  me  he  calls  up  here  because 
he  finds  in  her  room  where  she  died  a  card  with 
the  name  Lobel  Masterfilms  on  it.  And  like- 


MR.    LOBEL'S    APOPLEXY 

wise  also  I  just  remembered  that  in  the  excite 
ment  of  getting  such  a  sad  news  over  the  tele 
phone  I  don't  tell  him  who  really  she  is  neither." 

"Holy  St.  Patrick!"  blurted  Quinlan,  up  now 
on  his  feet.  "You  mean,  Lobel — " 

"Wait,  wait,  I  ain't  done — I  ain't  hardly 
started ! "  With  flapperlike  motions  of  his  hands 
Mr.  Lobel  waved  him  down.  "It's  easy — a 
pipe.  Listen!  To  date  her  salary  is  paid.  The 
day  she  went  away  I  gave  her  a  check  in  full, 
and  if  she  done  what  always  before  she  does, 
it's  in  the  bank  drawing  interest.  Let  it  go  on 
staying  in  the  bank  drawing  interest.  So  far 
as  we  know,  she  ain't  got  no  people  in  this 
country  at  all.  In  the  old  country,  in  Hun 
gary?  Maybe,  yes.  But  Hungary  is  yet  all 
torn  up  by  this  war — no  regular  government 
there,  no  regular  mails,  no  American  consuls 
there,  no  nothing.  Time  for  them  foreigners 
that  they  should  get  their  hands  on  her  prop 
erty  one  year  from  now  or  two  years  or  three. 
They  couldn't  come  to  claim  it  even  if  we 
should  notify  them,  which  we  can't.  They 
don't  lose  nothing  by  waiting.  Instead  they 
gain — the  interest  it  piles  up. 

"Should  people  ask  questions,  why  then 
through  the  papers  we  give  it  out  that  Miss 
Vida  Monte  is  gone  far  off  away  somewhere 
for  a  long  rest;  that  maybe  she  don't  take  no 
more  pictures  for  a  long  time.  That  should 
make  The  She-Demon  go  all  the  better.  And 
to-morrow  up  there  ?n  that  little  rube  town 
[325] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


very  quietly  we  bury  Sarah  Glassman,  deceased, 
with  the  burial  certificate  made  out  in  her  own 
name."  He  paused  a  moment  to  enjoy  his 
triumph.  "Boys,  when  I  myself  think  out 
something,  am  I  right  or  am  I  wrong?" 

He  answered  his  own  question. 

"I'm  right!" 

By  the  look  on  Quinlan's  face  he  read  con 
viction,  consent,  full  and  hearty  approval.  But 
Geltfin  wavered.  Inside  Geltfin  superstition 
wrestled  with  opposing  thoughts.  Upon  him 
then  Lobel,  the  master  mind,  advanced,  domi 
nating  the  scene  and  the  situation  and  deter 
mined  also  to  dominate  the  lesser  personality. 

"But — but  say — but  look  here  now,  Lobel," 
stammered  Geltfin,  hesitating  on  the  verge  of  a 
decision,  "she  might  come  back." 

"Geltfin,"  commanded  Lobel,  "you  should 
please  shut  up.  Do  you  want  that  we  should 
make  a  lot  of  money  or  do  you  want  that  we 
should  lose  a  lot  of  money?  I  ask  you.  Listen ! 
The  dead  they  don't  come  back.  When  just 
now  you  made  your  spiel,  that  part  of  it  which 
you  said  about  the  dead  coming  back  didn't 
worry  me.  It  was  the  part  which  you  said 
about  the  public  not  standing  for  it  that 
got  me,  because  for  once,  anyhow,  in  your 
life  you  were  right  and  I  give  you  right.  But 
what  the  public  don't  know  don't  hurt  'em. 
And  the  public  won't  know.  You  leave  it  to 
me!" 

It  was  as  though  this  argument  had  been  a 
[  326  ] 


MR.      LOBEL      S     APOPLEXY 

mighty  arm  outstretched  to  shove  him  over  the 
edge.  Geltfin  ceased  to  teeter  on  the  brim — he 
fell  in.  He  nodded  in  surrender  and  Lobel  quit 
patting  him  on  the  back  to  wave  the  vice  presi 
dent  into  activity. 

"Quinlan,"  he  ordered  as  he  might  order  an 
office  boy,  "get  busy!  Tell  'em  to  rush  The 
She-Demon!  Tell  'em  to  rush  the  subtitles 
and  all!  Tell  'em  to  rush  out  an  announce 
ment  that  the  big  fillum  is  going  to  be  released 
two  months  before  expected — on  account  the 
demand  of  the  public  is  so  strong  to  see  sooner 
the  greatest  vampire  feature  ever  fillumed." 

Quinlan  was  no  office  boy,  but  he  obeyed  as 
smartly  as  might  any  newly  hired  office  boy. 

If  it  was  Mr.  Lobel's  genius  which  guided  the 
course  of  action,  energizing  and  speeding  it, 
neither  could  it  be  denied  that  circumstance 
and  yet  again  circumstance  and  on  top  of  that 
more  circumstance  matched  in  with  hue  and 
shade  to  give  protective  coloration  to  his  plan. 
Continued  success  for  it  as  time  should  pass 
seemed  assured  and  guaranteed,  seeing  that 
Vida  Monte,  beyond  the  studios  and  off  the  lo 
cations,  had  all  her  life  walked  a  way  so  se 
cluded,  so  inconspicuous  and  so  utterly  com 
monplace  that  no  human  being,  whether  an 
attache  of  the  company  or  an  outsider,  would 
be  likely  to  miss  her,  or  missing  her,  to  pry 
deeply  into  the  causes  for  her  absence.  So 
much  for  the  contingencies  of  the  future  as 
"  [327] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


those  in  the  secret  foresaw  it.  As  for  the  pres 
ent,  that  was  simplicity. 

As  quietly  as  she  had  moved  in  those  earlier 
professional  days  of  hers,  when  she  played 
small  roles  in  provincial  stock  companies;  as 
quietly  as  she  had  gone  on  living  after  film 
fame  and  film  money  came  her  way;  as  quietly 
as  she  had  laid  her  down  and  died,  so — very 
quietly — was  her  body  put  away  in  the  little 
cemetery  at  Hamletsburg.  To  the  physician 
who  had  ministered  to  her,  to  his  good-hearted 
wife,  to  the  official  who  issued  the  burial  cer 
tificate,  to  the  imported  clergyman  who  held 
the  service,  to  the  few  villagers  who  gathered 
for  the  funeral,  drawn  by  the  morbid  lure  which 
in  isolated  communities  brings  folk  to  any 
funeral — to  all  of  these  the  dead  woman  merely 
was  a  stranger  with  a  strange  name  who,  tem 
porarily  abiding  here,  had  fallen  victim  to  the 
plague  which  filled  the  land. 

Of  those  who  had  a  hand  in  the  last  mortal 
role  she  would  ever  play  only  Lobel's  private 
secretary,  young  Appel,  who  came  to  pay  the 
bills  and  take  over  the  private  effects  of  this 
Sarah  Glassman  and  after  some  fashion  to  play 
the  rdles  of  next  friend  and  chief  mourner, 
kenned  the  truth.  The  clergyman  having  done 
his  duty  by  a  deceased  coreligionist,  to  him 
unknown,  went  back  to  the  city  where  he  be 
longed.  The  physician  hurried  away  from  the 
cemetery  to  minister  to  more  patients  than  he 
properly  could  care  for.  The  townspeople  scat- 
[328  ] 


MR.    LOBEL'S    APOPLEXY 

tered,  intent  upon  their  own  affairs.  Appel  re 
turned  to  headquarters,  reporting  all  well. 

At  headquarters  all  likewise  went  well — so 
briskly  well  in  fact  that  under  the  urge  for 
haste  things  essential  were  accomplished  in  less 
time  by  fewer  craftsmen  than  had  been  the 
case  since  those  primitive  beginnings  when  Lo- 
bel's,  then  a  struggling  short-handed  concern, 
frequently  had  doubled  up  its  studio  staffs  for 
operative  service  in  the  makeshift  laboratory. 
Reporting  progress  to  the  president,  Mr.  Quin- 
lan  expanded  with  self-satisfaction. 

"I'm  fixing  to  show  you  something  in  the 
way  of  a  speed  record,"  he  proudly  proclaimed. 
"The  way  I  looked  at  it,  the  fewer  people  I 
had  rushing  this  thing  through  the  factory  the 
less  chance  there  was  for  loose  talk  round  the 
plant  and  the  less  loose  talk  there  was  going  on 
round  the  plant  the  less  chance  there  was  for 
maybe  more  loose  talk  outside.  Yes,  I  know 
we'd  figured  we'd  got  everything  caulked  up 
air-tight,  but  I  says  to  myself,  *  What's  the  use 
in  taking  a  chance  on  a  leak  if  you  don't  have 
to?' 

"So  I  practically  turned  the  big  part  of  the 
job — developing  and  all  the  rest  of  it — over  to 
Josephson,  same  as  we  used  to  do  back  yonder 
when  we  was  starting  out  in  this  game  and 
didn't  have  a  regular  film  cutter  and  the  cam 
era  man  had  to  jump  in  and  develop  and  cut 
and  assemble  and  print  and  everything.  Jo- 
sephson  shot  all  the  scenes  for  The  She-Demon 


SUNDRY      ACCOUNTS 


—he  knows  the  run  of  it  better  even  than  the 
director  does.  Besides,  Josephson  is  naturally 
close-mouthed.  He  minds  his  own  business 
and  never  butts  in  anywhere.  To  look  at  him 
you  can't  never  tell  what  he's  thinking  about. 
But  even  if  he  suspected  anything — and,  of 
course,  he  don't — he's  the  kind  that'd  know 
enough  to  keep  his  trap  shut.  So  I've  had 
him  working  like  a  nailer  and  he's  pretty  near 
done. 

"Soon  as  he  had  the  negative  ready,  which 
was  late  yesterday  afternoon  after  you'd  went 
home,  I  had  it  run  off  with  nobody  there  but 
me  and  Josephson,  and  I  took  a  flash  at  it — 
and,  Lobel,  it's  a  bear!  No  need  for  you  to 
worry  about  the  negative — it  was  a  heap  too 
long,  of  course,  in  the  shape  it  was  yesterday, 
but  it  had  everything  in  it  we  hoped  would  be 
in  it — and  more  besides. 

"So  then  without  losing  a  minute  I  stuck 
Josephson  on  the  printing  machine  himself.  I'd 
already  gave  the  girl  on  the  machine  a  couple 
of  days  off  to  get  her  out  of  the  way.  Joseph- 
son  stayed  on  the  job  alone  pretty  near  all  last 
night,  I  guess.  He  had  things  to  himself  with 
out  anybody  to  bother  him  and  I  tell  you  he 
shoved  it  along. 

"Connors  ain't  lost  no  time  neither.  He's 
got  the  subtitles  pretty  near  done,  and  believe 
it  or  not,  as  you're  a  mind  to,  but,  Lobel,  I'm 
telling  you  that  this  time  to-morrow  morning 
and  not  a  minute  later  I'll  have  the  first  sam- 
[  330  ] 


MR.      LOBEL      S      APOPLEXY 

pie  print  all  cut  and  assembled  and  ready  for 
you  to  give  it  a  look!  Then  it'll  just  be  a  job 
of  matching  up  the  negative  and  sticking  in  the 
subtitles  and  starting  to  turn  out  the  positives 
faster  than  the  shipping-room  gang  can  handle 
'em.  I  guess  that  ain't  moving,  heh?" 

"Quinlan,"  said  Mr.  Lobel,  "I  give  you 
right." 

By  making  his  word  good  to  the  minute  the 
gratified  Mr.  Quinlan  derived  additional  grati 
fication.  At  the  time  appointed  they  sat  in 
darkness  in  the  body  of  the  projection  room— 
Lobel,  Quinlan,  Geltfin  and  Appel,  these  four 
and  none  other — behind  a  door  locked  and 
barred.  Promptly  on  Quinlan's  order  the  oper 
ator  in  the  box  behind  them  started  his  ma 
chine  and  the  accomplished  rough  draft  of  the 
great  masterpiece  leaped  into  being  and  actu 
ality  upon  the  lit  square  toward  which  they 
faced. 

The  beginning  was  merely  a  beginning — 
graphic  enough  and  offering  abundant  proof 
that  in  this  epochal  undertaking  the  Lobel  shop 
had  spared  no  expense  to  make  the  production 
sumptuous,  but  after  all  only  preliminary  stuff 
to  sauce  the  palate  of  the  patron  for  a  greater 
feast  to  come  and  suitably  to  lead  up  to  the  in 
troduction  of  the  star.  Soon  the  star  was  pro 
jected  upon  the  screen,  a  purring,  graceful 
panther  of  a  woman,  to  change  at  once  into  a 
sinuous  python  of  a  woman  and  then  to  merge 
[331] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


the  feline  and  the  ophidian  into  a  sinister, 
splendid,  menacing  composite  bespeaking  the 
dramatic  conception  and  the  dramatic  present 
ment  of  all  feminine  evil,  typifying  in  every 
move  of  the  lithe,  half -clad  body,  in  every  shift 
of  the  big  eyes,  wickedness  unleashed  and  un 
ashamed. 

Mr.  Lobel  sitting  unseen  in  the  velvet  black 
ness  uttered  grunts  of  approbation.  The  great 
est  of  all  film  vampires  certainly  had  delivered 
the  goods  in  this  her  valedictory.  Never  be 
fore  had  she  so  well  delivered  them.  The  grunt 
ing  became  a  happy  rumble. 

But  all  this,  too,  was  in  a  measure  dedica 
tory — a  foretaste  of  more  vivid  episodes  to  fol 
low,  when  the  glorious  siren,  displaying  to  the 
full  her  powers  of  fascination  over  the  souls 
and  the  bodies  of  men,  would  rise  to  heights  yet 
greater  and  the  primitive  passion  she  so  well 
simulated  would  shine  forth  like  a  malignant 
jewel  in  a  setting  that  was  semibarbaric  and 
semicivilized,  too,  and  altogether  prodigal  and 
lavish.  The  first  of  these  bigger  scenes  started 
—the  scene  where  the  queen  of  the  apaches  set 
herself  .to  win  the  price  of  her  hire  from  the 
Germans  by  seducing  the  young  army  officer 
into  a  betrayal  of  the  Allied  cause;  the  same 
scene  wherein  at  the  time  of  filming  it  Mr.  Lo 
bel  himself  had  taken  over  direction  from  Col- 
fax's  hands. 

The  scene  was  launched,  acquired  headway, 
then  was  halted  as  a  bellow  from  Mr.  Lobel 


MR.    LOBEL'S    APOPLEXY 

warned  the  operator  behind  him  to  cut  off  the 
power. 

"What  the  hell!"  sputtered  the  master. 
"There's  a  blur  on  the  picture  here,  a  sort  of  a 
kind  of  smokiness.  Did  you  see  it,  Geltfin? 
Right  almost  directly  in  front  of  Monte  it  all 
of  a  sudden  comes!  Did  you,  Quinlan?" 

"Sure  I  seen  it,"  agreed  Geltfin.  "Like  a 
spot — sort  of." 

"It  wasn't  on  the  negative  when  I  seen  it 
day  before  yesterday,"  stated  Quinlan.  "I  can 
swear  to  that.  A  little  defect  from  faulty 
printing,  I  guess." 

"All  right  then,"  said  Mr.  Lobel.  "Only 
where  you  got  efficiency  like  I  got  it  in  this 
plant  such  things  should  have  no  business  oc 
curring. 

"Go  on,  operator — let's  see  how  goes  it  from 
now  on." 

Out  again  two  shadow  figures — the  vampire 
and  the  vampire's  prey — flashed  in  motion. 
Yes,  the  cloudy  spot  was  there,  a  bit  of  murky 
shadow  drifting  between  the  pair  of  figures 
and  the  audience.  It  thickened  and  broad 
ened — and  then  from  the  suddenly  constricted 
throats  of  the  four  watchers,  almost  as  though 
all  in  the  same  moment  an  invisible  hand  had 
laid  gripping  hold  on  each  of  their  several 
windpipes,  came  a  chorused  gasp. 

For  they  saw  how  out  of  the  drifting  patch 
of  spumy  wrack  there  emerged  a  shape  vague 
and  indistinct  and  ghostly,  but  taking  on  in- 
[  333  ]"" 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


stantly  the  sharpened  outlines  of  one  they  rec 
ognized.  It  was  the  shape,  not  of  Vida  Monte, 
the  fabled  wrecker  of  lives,  but  the  shape  of 
her  other  self,  Sarah  Glassman,  and  the  face  it 
wore  was  not  the  face  of  the  stage  vampire, 
aflame  with  the  counterfeited  evil  which  the 
actor  woman  had  so  well  known  how  to  simu 
late  but  the  real  face  of  the  real  woman,  who 
lay  dead  and  buried  under  a  mound  of  fresh- 
cut  sods  seventy  miles  away — her  own  face, 
melancholy  and  sadly  placid,  as  God  had  fash 
ioned  it  for  her. 

Out  from  the  filmy  umbra  it  advanced  to  the 
center,  thus  hiding  its  half -naked  double  writh 
ing  in  the  embrace  of  the  deluded  lover,  and 
clearly  revealed  itself  in  long  sweeping  gar 
ments  of  pure  white — fit  grave  clothes  for  one 
lately  entombed — with  great  masses  of  loosened 
black  hair  falling  like  a  pall  about  the  passion 
less  brooding  face;  and  now  lifting  reproachful 
eyes,  it  looked  out  across  the  intervening  void 
of  blackness  into  their  staring  eyes,  and  from 
the  folds  of  the  cerement  robes  raised  a  bare 
arm  high  as  though  to  forbid  a  lying  sacrilege. 
And  stood  there  then  as  a  wraith  newly  freed 
from  the  burying  mold,  filling  and  dominating 
the  picture  so  that  one  looking  saw  nothing 
else  save  the  shrouded  figure  and  the  head  and 
the  face  and  those  eyes  and  that  upheld  white 
arm. 

Cowering  low  in  his  seat  with  a  sleeve  across 
his  eyes  to  shut  out  the  accusing  apparition, 


MR.    LOBEL'S    APOPLEXY 

Mr.  Geltfin  whispered  between  chattering  teeth : 
"I  told  him!  I  told  him  the  dead  could  maybe 
come  back!" 

Mr.  Quinlan,  a  bolder  nature  but  even  so  ter 
ribly  shaken,  was  muttering  to  himself:  "But 
it  wasn't  in  the  negative!  I  swear  to  God  it 
wasn't  in  the  negative!" 

It  is  probable  that  Mr.  Lobel  heard  neither 
of  them,  or  if  he  heard  he  gave  no  heed.  He 
had  a  feeling  that  the  darkness  was  smother 
ing  him. 

"Shut  off  the  machine!"  he  roared  as  he 
wrenched  his  body  free  of  the  snug  opera  chair 
in  which  he  sat.  "And  turn  on  the  lights  in 
this  room — quick!  And  let  me  out  of  here — 
quick!" 

Lunging  into  the  darkness  he  stumbled  over 
Appel's  legs  and  tumbled  headlong  out  into 
the  narrow  aisle.  On  all  fours  as  the  lights 
flashed  on,  he  gave  in  a  choking  bellow  his  com 
mands. 

"Burn  that  print — you  hear  me,  burn  it  now! 
And  then  burn  the  negative  too!  Quick  you 
burn  it,  like  I  am  telling  you!" 

"But,  Lobel,  I'll  swear  to  the  negative!"  pro 
tested  Quinlan,  jealous  even  in  his  fright  for 
his  own  vindication.  "If  you'll  look  at  the 
neg-" 

"I  wouldn't  touch  it  for  a  million  dollars!" 
roared  Lobel.  "Burn  it  up,  I  tell  you!  And 
bury  the  ashes!" 

Still  choking,  still  bellowing,  he  scrambled  to 

__ 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


his  feet,  an  ungainly  embodiment  of  mortal  agi 
tation,  and  ran  for  the  door.  But  Mr.  Geltfin 
beat  him  to  it  and  through  it,  Quinlan  and  Ap- 
pel  following  in  the  order  named. 

Outside  their  chief  fell  up  against  a  wall, 
panting  and  wheezing  for  breath,  his  face  swol 
len  and  all  congested  with  purple  spots.  They 
thought  he  was  about  to  have  a  stroke  or  a 
seizure  of  some  sort.  But  they  were  wrong. 
This  merely  was  Nature's  warning  to  a  man 
with  a  size  seventeen  neckband  and  a  forty- 
six-inch  girth  measurement.  The  stroke  he 
was  to  have  on  the  following  day. 

Probably  Quinlan  and  Geltfin  as  experienced 
business  men  should  have  known  better  than 
to  come  bursting  together  into  the  office  of  a 
stout  middle-aged  man  who  so  lately  had  suf 
fered  a  considerable  nervous  shock  and  still  was 
unstrung;  and  having  after  such  unseemly 
fashion  burst  in,  then  to  blurt  out  their  tidings 
in  concert  without  first  by  soft  and  soothing 
words  preparing  their  hearer's  system  to  receive 
the  tidings  they  bore.  But  themselves,  they 
were  upset  by  what  they  just  had  learned  and 
so  perhaps  may  be  pardoned  for  a  seeming  un- 
thoughtfulness.  Both  speaking  at  once,  both 
made  red  of  face  and  vehement  by  mingled 
emotions  of  rage  and  chagrin,  each  nourishing 
a  perfectly  natural  and  human  desire  to  place 
the  blame  for  a  catastrophe  on  shoulders  other 
than  their  own  two  pairs,  they  sought  to  im- 
part  the  tale  they  brought.  Ensued  for  an 
[336]  ~ 


MR.    LOBEL'S    APOPLEXY 

exciting  moment  a  baffling  confusion  of  tongues. 

"It  was  that  Josephson  done  it — the  mousy 
little  sneak!" 

These  words  became  intelligible  as  Quinlan, 
exerting  his  superior  vocal  powers,  dinned  out 
the  sputtering  inarticulate  accents  of  Geltfin. 

"He  fixed  it  so  that  you'd  spill  the  beans, 
Lobel!  He  fixed  The  She-Demon — Josephson. 
And  me  trusting  him! 

"How  should  I  be  knowing  that  all  this  time 
him  and  that  girl  was  secretly  engaged  to  be 
married?  How  should  I  be  knowing  that  he, 
would  find  out  for  himself  the  day  after  the 
funeral  that  she  was  dead  and  yet  never  say  a 
word  about  it?  How  should  I  be  knowing  that 
he  would  have  all  tucked  away  somewhere  a 
roll  of  film  showing  her  dressed  up  like  a  ma 
donna  or  a  saint  or  a  martyr  or  a  ghost  or 
something  which  he  took  privately  one  time 
when  they  was  out  together  on  location — slip 
ping  away  with  her  and  taking  'em  without 
nobody  knowing  about  it?  How  should  I  be 
knowing  that  without  tipping  his  hand  he 
would  cook  up  the  idea  to  work  a  slick  fake  on 
you,  Lobel,  and  scare  you  into  killing  off  the 
whole  thing?  How  should  I  be  knowing  that 
while  he  was  on  the  printing  machine  all  by 
himself  the  other  night  that  he  would  work  the 
old  double  exposure  stunt  and  throw  such  a 
scare  into  you  in  the  projecting  room  yester 
day?" 

By  reason  of  his  valvular  resources  Mr.  Quin- 
[337]  " 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


Ian  might  shout  louder  than  Geltfin.  But  he 
could  not  shout  louder  than  Mr.  Lobel.  No 
body  in  that  section  of  Southern  California 
could.  Mr.  Lobel  outblared  him: 

"How  should  you  be  knowing?  You  come 
now  and  ask  me  that  when  all  along  it  was  you 
that  had  the  swell  idee  to  stick  him  into  the 
laboratory  all  by  himself  where  he  could  play 
some  funny  business  ?  You ! ' ' 

"But  it  was  you,  Lobel,  that  wouldn't  listen 
to  me  when  I  begged  you  to  wait  and  not 
burn  up  the  negative.  I  tried  to  tell  you  that 
the  negative  was  O.  K.  when  I'd  seen  it  run 
off." 

"You  told  me?    It's  a  lie!" 

"Sure  I  told  you!  Geltfin  remembers  my 
telling  you,  don't  you,  Geltfin?  You're  an  old 
bird,  Lobel — you  ought  to  know  by  now  about 
retouching  and  doctoring  and  all.  You  know 
how  easy  it  is  to  slip  over  a  double  exposure. 
But  it  was  only  the  sample  print  that  was  doc 
tored.  The  negative  was  all  right,  but  you 
wouldn't  listen." 

"That's  right  too,  Lobel!"  shrilled  Geltfin. 
"I  heard  him  when  he  yelled  out  to  you  that 
you  should  wait!" 

Quinlan  amplified  the  indictment. 

"Sure  he  heard  me — and  so  did  you!  But 
no,  you  had  to  lose  your  nerve  and  lose  your 
head  just  because  you'd  had  a  scare  throwed 
into  you." 

"I  never  lose  my  head!  I  never  lose  my 
[  338  ] 


MR.      LOBEL      S     APOPLEXY 

nerve ! "  denied  Mr.  Lobel.  He  turned  the  coun 
ter  tide  of  recriminations  on  Geltfin. 

"Anyhow, — it  was  you  started  it,  Geltfin — 
you  in  the  first  place,  right  here  in  this  room, 
with  your  craziness  about  the  dead  coming 
back.  Only  for  your  fool  talk  I  would  never 
have  had  the  idee  of  a  ghost  at  all.  And  now 
— now  when  the  cow  is  all  spilt  milk  you  two 
come  and — 

"Oh,  but  Lobel,"  countered  Geltfin,  "remem 
ber  you  was  the  one  that  made  'em  burn  up 
the  negative  without  giving  it  a  look  at  all!" 

"He  said  it,  Lobel!"  reenforced  Quinlan. 
"You  was  the  one  that  just  would  have  the 
negative  burned  up  whether  or  no.  And  now 
it's  burned  up!" 

Mr.  Lobel  was  not  used  to  being  bullied  in 
his  own  office  or  elsewhere.  If  there  was  bul 
lying  to  be  done  by  anyone,  he  was  his  own 
candidate  always.  Surcharged  with  distract 
ing  regrets  as  he  was,  he  had  an  inspiration. 
He  would  turn  the  flood  of  accusation  away 
from  himself. 

"Where  is  that  Josephson?"  he  whooped. 
"He  is  the  one  actually  to  blame,  not  us.  Let 
me  get  my  hands  on  that  Josephson  once!" 

"You  can't!"  jeered  Quinlan.  "He's  quit — 
he's  gone — he's  beat  it!  He  wrote  me  a  note, 
though,  and  mailed  it  back  to  me  when  he  was 
beating  it  out  of  town,  telling  me  to  tell  you 
how  slick  he'd  worked  it  on  you."  He  felt  in 
his  pockets.  "I  got  that  note  here  somewhere 
[  239  ] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


— here  it  is.  I'll  read  it  to  you,  Lobel — he  calls 
you  an  old  scoundrel  in  one  place  and  an  old 
sucker  in  another." 

"Look  out — catch  him,  Quinlan!"  cried  Mr. 
Geltfin.  "Look  at  his  face — he's  fixing  to 
faint  or  something." 

The  prime  intent  of  this  recital,  as  set  forth 
at  the  beginning,  was  to  tell  why  Mr.  Max 
Lobel  had  an  attack  of  apoplexy.  That  orig 
inal  purpose  having  been  now  carried  out,  there 
remains  nothing  more  to  be  added  and  the 
chapter  ends. 


[340] 


CHAPTER  VIII 

ALAS,    THE    POOR 
WHIFFLETIT  ! 


OVER    Jefferson    Poindexter's    usually 
buoyant   spirits   a   fabric   of   gloom, 
black,  thick,  and  heavy,  was  spread 
like    a    burying-pall.      His    thoughts 
were  the  color  of  twelve  o'clock  at  night  at  the 
bottom  of  a  coal-mine  and    it  the  dark  of  the 
moon.    Moroseness  crowned  his  brow;    sorrow 
berode  his  soul,  and  on  his  under  lip  the  bull- 
bat,  that  eccentric  bird  which  has  to  sit  length 
wise  of  the  limb,   might  have  perched  with 
room  to  spare.    You  couldn't  see  the  ointment 
for  the  flies,  and  Gilead  had  gone  out  of  the 
balm  business.    There  was  a  reason.    The  rea 
son  was  Ophelia  Stubblefield. 

On  an  upturned  watering-piggin  alongside 
Mittie  May's  stall  in  the  stable  back  of  the 
house,  Jeff  sat  and  just  naturally  gloomed.  To 
this  retreat  he  had  been  harried  against  his 
will.  Out  of  her  domain,  which  was  the  kitchen, 
Aunt  Dilsey  had  driven  him  with  words  barbed 

and  bitter. 

[3*1] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


"Tek  yo'se'f  on  'way  f'um  yere,  black  boy!" 
Such  had  been  her  command.  "Me,  I's  plum 
distracted  an'  wore  out  jes'  f'um  lookin'  at  you 
settin'  'round  sullin'  lak  a'  ole  possum.  Ef 
Satan  fine  some  labor  still  fur  idle  hands  to  do, 
same  ez  de  Holy  Word  say  he  do,  he  suttinly 
must  be  stedyin'  'bout  openin'  up  a  branch  em- 
ploymint  agency  fur  cullid  only,  'specially  on 
yore  account.  You  ain't  de  Grand  President 
of  de  Order  of  de  Folded  Laigs,  tho'  you  shorely 
does  ack  lak  it.  You's  s'posed  to  be  doin' 
somethin'  fur  yore  keep  an'  wages.  H'ist  yo' 
se'f  an'  move." 

"I  ain't  doin'  nothin'!"  Jeff  protested  spirit 
lessly. 

"Dat  you  ain't!"  agreed  Aunt  Dilsey.  "An' 
whut  you  better  do  is  better  do  somethin '- 
tha's  my  ed vices  to  you.  S'posin'  ole  boss- 
man  came  back  yere  to  dis  kitchen  an'  ketch 
you  'cumberin'  de  earth  de  way  you  is.  You 
knows,  well  ez  I  does,  w'ite  folks  suttinly  does 
hate  to  see  a  strappin'  nigger  settin'  'round 
doin'  nothin'." 

"Boss-man  ain't  yere,"  said  Jeff.  "He's  up 
at  the  cote-house.  Mos'  doubtless  jes'  about 
right  now  he's  sendin'  some  flippy  cullid  woman 
to  the  big  jail  fur  six  months  fur  talkin'  too 
much  'bout  whut  don't  concern  her." 

"Is  tha'  so?"  she  countered.  "Well,  ef  he 
should  come  back  home  he'll  find  one  of  de 
most  fragrant  cases  of  vagromcy  he  ever  run 
acrost  right  yere  'pon  his  own  household  prem- 


ALAS,      THE      POOR      WHIFFLETIx! 

ises.  Boy,  is  you  goin'  move,  lak  I  patiently  is 
warned  you,  or  ain't  you?  Git  on  out  yander 
to  de  stable  an'  confide  yo'  sorrows  to  de  Jedge's 
old  mare.  Mebbe  she  mout  be  able  to  endure 
you,  but  you  p'intedly  gives  me  de  fidgits.  Git 
— befo'  I  starts  findin'  out  ef  dat  flat  haid  of 
yourn  fits  up  smooth  ag'inst  de  back  side  of  a 
skillit." 

Nervously  she  fingered  the  handle  of  her 
largest  frying-pan.  Jeff  knew  the  danger-sig 
nals.  Too  deeply  sunken  in  melancholy  to  ven 
ture  any  further  retorts,  he  withdrew  himself, 
seeking  sanctuary  in  the  lee  of  Mittie  May. 
He  squatted  upon  the  capsized  keeler,  auto 
matically  balancing  himself  as  it  wabbled  under 
him  on  its  one  projecting  handle,  and,  with  his 
eyes  fixed  on  nothing,  gave  himself  over  unre 
servedly  to  a  consuming  canker.  For  all  that 
unhappiness  calked  his  ears  as  with  pledgets  of 
cotton  wool,  there  presently  percolated  to  his 
aloof  understanding  the  consciousness  that 
somebody  was  speaking  on  the  other  side  of 
the  high  board  fence  which  marked  the  divid 
ing  line  between  Judge  Priest's  place  and  the 
Enders,  place  next  door.  Listlessly  he  identi 
fied  the  voice  as  the  property  of  the  young  gen 
tleman  from  up  North  who  was  staying  with 
his  kinsfolk,  the  Enders  family.  This  was  a 
gentleman  already  deeply  admired  by  Jeff  at 
long  distance  for  the  sprightliness  of  his  ward 
robe  and  for  his  gay  and  gallus  ways.  Against 
his  will — for  he  craved  to  be  quite  alone  with 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


his  griefs  and  no  distracting  influences  creep 
ing  in — Jeff  listened.  Listening,  he  heard  lan 
guage  of  such  splendor  as  literally  to  force  him 
to  rise  up  and  approach  the  fence  and  apply 
his  eye  to  a  convenient  cranny  between  two 
whitewashed  boards. 

Under  an  Injun-cigar  tree  which  grew  in  the 
Enders'  back  yard  the  fascinating  visitor  out  of 
Northern  parts  was  stretched  in  a  hammock, 
between  draws  on  a  cigarette  discoursing  gran 
diloquently  to  a  half-incredulous  but  wholly 
delighted  audience  of  three.  His  three  small 
nephews  were  hunkered  on  the  earth  beside 
him,  their  grinning  faces  upturned  to  his  the 
while  he  dealt  first  with  this  and  then  with 
that  variety  of  curious  fauna  which,  he  alleged, 
were  to  be  encountered  in  the  wilds  of  a  strange 
place  called  the  State  of  Rhode  Island,  where, 
it  seemed,  he  had  spent  the  greater  part  of  an 
adventurous  and  crowded  youth. 

"Well,"  he  was  saying  now,  beginning,  as  it 
were,  a  new  chapter,  "if  you  think  the  sulfur- 
crested  parabola  is  a  funny  bird  you  should 
hear  about  the  great  flannel-throated  golosh, 
or  arctic  bird  of  the  polar  seas,  which  is  a  crea 
ture  so  rare  that  nobody  ever  saw  one,  although 
Dr.  Cook,  the  imminent  ex-explorer,  made  an 
exhaustive  study  of  its  habits  and  peculiarities 
and  told  the  King  of  Denmark  about  them, 
afterward  amplifying  his  remarks  on  the  sub 
ject  in  the  lecture  which  he  delivered  in  this,  his 
native  land,  under  the  auspices  of  the  Interna- 
[344] 


ALAS,      THE      POOR 


tional  School  of  Poor  Fish.  By  the  way,  I'm 
sure  the  Doctor  must  have  visited  this  town  on 
his  tour.  Only  yesterday,  I  think  it  was,  I 
saw  an  illuminated  sign  down  on  Franklin  Street 
which  surely  was  used  originally  to  advertise  his 
lecture.  It  was  a  sign  which  said,  '  Cook  With 
Gas ! '  But  speaking  of  fish,  I  am  reminded  of  the 
fur-bearing  whiffletit;  only  some  authorities  say 
the  whiffletit  is  not  a  fish  at  all,  but  a  subspecies 
of  the  wampus  family.  Now,  the  wampus — " 

"Say,  tell  us  about  the  whiffletit  next," 
begged  one  wriggling  youngster,  plainly  allured 
by  the  sound  of  the  name. 

"With  pleasure,"  said  the  speaker.  "The 
whiffletit  is  found  only  in  streams  running  in  a 
south-northerly  direction.  This  is  because  the 
whiffletit,  being  a  sensitive  creature  with  poor 
vision,  insists  on  having  the  light  falling  over 
its  left  shoulder  at  all  times.  A  creek,  river, 
inlet,  or  estuary  which  has  a  wide  mouth  and 
a  narrow  head,  such  as  a  professional  after-din 
ner  speaker  has,  is  a  favorite  haunt  for  the 
whiffletit.  To  the  naturalist  it  is  a  constant 
source  of  joy.  It  always  swims  backward  up 
stream,  to  keep  the  water  out  of  its  eyes,  and 
it  has  only  one  fin,  which  grows  just  under  its 
chin,  so  that  the  whiffletit  can  fan  itself  in 
warm  weather,  thus  keeping  cool,  calm,  and 
collected.  Most  marvelous  thing  of  all  about 
this  marvelous  creature  is  its  diet.  For  the 
whiffletit,  my  dear  young  friends,  lives  exclu- 

sively  on  imported  Brie  cheese. 

[345] 


SUNDRY      ACCOUNTS 


"Did  I  say  exclusively?  Ah,  there  I  fell  into 
error.  It  has  been  known  to  nibble  at  a  chi 
ropodist's  finger,  but  it  prefers  imported  Brie 
cheese,  aged  in  the  wood.  The  mode  employed 
in  catching  it  is  very  interesting,  and  I  shall 
now  describe  it  to  you.  Selecting  a  body  of 
water  wherein  the  whiffletit  resides,  you  enter 
a  round-bottomed  boat  and  row  out  to  the  mid 
dle  of  it.  Then  you  take  a  square  timber,  and, 
driving  it  into  the  water,  withdraw  it  very 
swiftly  so  as  to  leave  a  square  hole  in  the 
water.  Care  should  be  taken  to  use  a  per 
fectly  square  timber  because  the  whiffletit  being, 
as  I  forgot  to  tell  you,  shaped  like  a  brick,  can 
not  move  up  and  down  a  round  hole  without 
barking  its  shins,  much  to  the  discomfort  of 
the  pretty  creature. 

"Pray  follow  me  closely  now,  for  at  this 
juncture  we  come  to  the  most  important  phase 
of  the  undertaking.  You  bait  the  edges  of  the 
hole  with  the  cheese  cut  in  small  cubes  and 
quietly  await  results.  Nor  do  you  have  long  to 
wait.  Far  down  below  in  his  watery  retreat 
the  whiffletit  catches  the  alluring  aroma  of  the 
cheese.  He  swims  to  the  surface  and  devours 
it  to  the  last  crumb.  But  alas  for  the  greedy 
whiffletit!  Instantly  the  cheese  swells  him  up 
so  that  he  cannot  change  gears  nor  retreat  back 
down  the  hole,  and  as  he  circles  about,  flapping 
helplessly,  you  lean  over  the  side  of  the  boat 
and  laugh  him  to  death !  And  such,  my  young 
friends,  such  is  the  fate  of  the  whiffletit/' 
[346] 


ALAS,      THE      POOR      WHIFFLETIx! 

"'Scuse  me,  suh." 

The  amateur  aspirant  for  the  robe  of  Mun- 
chausen  paused  from  lighting  a  fresh  cigarette 
and  lifted  his  eyes,  and  was  aware  of  an  an 
thracite-colored  face  risen,  like  some  new  kind 
of  crayoned  full  moon,  above  the  white  sky 
line  of  the  side  fence. 

"'Scuse  me,  suh,  fur  interruptin',"  repeated 
the  voice  belong  ng  to  the  apparition,  "but  I 
couldn't  he'p  frum  overhearin'  whut  you  wuz 
tellin'  the  boys  yere.  An'  I  got  sort  of  inter 
ested  myse'f." 

"It's  Judge  Priest's  Jeff,  Uncle  D wight,"  ex 
plained  the  oldest  nephew.  "Jeff  makes  us 
fluttermills  out  of  corn-stalks,  and  he  learned 
us — taught  us,  I  mean — to  call  a  brickbat  an 
alley-apple,  and  he  can  make  his  ears  wiggle 
just  like  a  rabbit  and  everything.  Don't  you, 
Jeff? — I  mean,  can't  you,  Jeff?" 

"Ah,  I  see,"  said  the  fabulist  with  a  wink 
aside  for  Jeff's  benefit.  "I  am  indeed  delighted 
to  make  the  acquaintance  of  one  thus  gifted, 
even  under  the  present  informal  circumstances. 
In  what  way,  if  any,  may  I  be  of  service  to 
you,  Judge  Priest's  Jeff?" 

"That  air  thing  you  named  the  whiffletit — near 
ez  I  made  out  you  said,  boss,  that  fust  you  tolled 
him  up  to  whar  you  wanted  him  wid  cheese 
an'  'en  you  jest  natchelly  laffed  him  to  death?" 

"Such  are  the  correct  facts  accurately  re 
peated,  Judge  Priest's  Jeff,"  gravely  assented 
this  affable  faunalist. 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


"Yas,  suh,"  said  Jeff.  "D'ye  s'pose  nowy 
boss,  it  would  he'p  any  ef  they  wuz  a  whole 
passel  of  folks  to  do  the  laffin'  'stid  of  jes' 
one?" 

"Beyond  the  peradventure  of  a  doubt.  Con 
certed  action  on  the  part  of  many,  guffawing 
merrily  in  chorus,  assuredly  would  hasten  the 
death  of  the  ill-starred  victim,  if  you  get  what 
I  mean,  Judge  Priest's  most  estimable  Jeff?" 

"Yas,  suh,"  said  Jeff.  "Thanky,  suh."  He 
did  not  exactly  smile  his  thanks,  but  the  mask 
of  his  melancholy  crinkled  round  the  edges  and 
raised  slightly.  One  who  knew  Jeff,  and  more 
particularly  one  who  had  been  cognizant  of  his 
depressed  state  during  the  past  fortnight,  would 
have  said  that  a  heartening  thought  suddenly 
had  come  to  him,  lightening  and  lifting  in  ever 
so  small  a  degree  the  funereal  mantlings.  He 
made  as  though  to  withdraw  from  sight.  A 
gesture  from  the  visiting  naturalist  detained 
him. 

"  One  moment,"  said  Uncle  D wight.  "  Might 
I,  a  comparative  stranger,  be  pardoned  for  in 
quiring  into  the  motives  underlying  the  inter 
est  you  have  evinced  in  my  perhaps  poorly  ex 
pressed  but  veracious  narration?" 

The  wraith  of  Jeff's  grin  took  on  flesh  visi 
bly.  It  was  a  pleasure — even  to  one  beset  by 
grievous  perplexities — it  was  a  pleasure  to  hear 
such  noble  big  words  fall  thus  trippingly  from 
human  lips.  His  answer,  tho,  was  in  a  measure 

evasive,  not  to  say  cryptic. 

[348] 


ALAS,      THE      POOR     WHIFFLETIT! 

"I  wuz  jes'  stedyin',  tha's  all,  suh,"  he  fenced. 
He  ducked  from  view,  then  bobbed  his  head 
up  again. 

"  'Scuse  me,  suh,  but  they  is  one  mo'  thing  I 
craves  to  ast  you." 

"Proceed,  I  pray  you.  Our  aim  is  to  please 
and  instruct." 

"Well,  suh,  I  jes'  wanted  to  ast  you  ef  you 
ever  run  acrost  one  of  these  yere  whiffletits 
w'ich  played  on  the  jazzin'-valve?" 

"Prithee?" 

"Naw,  suh,  not  the  prith — prith — wnut  you 
jes'  said.  I  mentioned  the  jazzin'-valve — whut 
some  folks  calls  the  saxophone.  D'ye  reckin 

they  mout'  'a'  been  a  whiffletit  onct  'at  played 

?j » 

^X*      VA*V,. 

"Oh,  the  saxophone!  Well,  as  to  that  I 
could  not  with  certainty  speak.  But,  mark 
you,  the  whiffletit  is  a  creature  of  infinite  re 
sources — versatile,  abounding  in  quaint  conceits 
and  whimsies,  and,  having  withal  a  wide  reper 
toire.  Sometimes  its  repertoire  is  twice  as 
wide  as  it  is,  thus  producing  a  peculiar  effect 
when  the  whiffletit  is  viewed  from  behind. 
On  second  thought,  I  have  no  doubt  that  in 
the  privacy  of  its  subterranean  fireside  the 
whiffletit  wiles  away  the  tedium  of  the  long 
winter  evenings  by  playing  on  the  saxo 
phone." 

"Come  on  over,  Jeff,  and  Uncle  Dwight  will 
tell  us  some  more,"  urged  the  hospitable  oldest 
nephew. 


SUNDRY      ACCOUNTS 

But  Jeff  had  vanished.  He  wished  to  be 
alone  for  the  working  out  of  a  project  as  yet 
vague  and  formless,  but  having  a  most  definite 
object  to  be  attained.  Stimulated  by  hope 
new-born,  he  was  now  a  sort  of  twelfth  carbon 
copy  of  the  regular  Jeff — faint,  perhaps,  and 
blurry,  but  recognizable.  Through  the  clouds 
which  encompassed  him  the  faint  promise  of  a 
rift  was  apparent. 

By  rights  one  would  have  said  that  Jeff  had 
no  excuse  for  hiding  in  a  shadowed  hinterland 
at  all.  The  world  might  have  been  excused  for 
its  failure  to  plumb  the  underlying  causes  which 
roiled  the  waters  of  his  soul.  Seemingly  the 
currents  of  life  ran  for  him  in  agreeable  channels. 
He  had  an  indulgent  employer  whose  clothes 
fitted  Jeff.  Indeed,  anybody's  clothes  fitted 
Jeff.  He  had  one  of  those  figures  which  seem 
to  give  and  take.  He  was  well  nourished,  gifted 
conversationally,  of  a  nimble  wit,  resourceful, 
apt.  Moreover,  home-grown  watermelons  were 
ripe.  The  Eighth  of  August,  celebrated  in  these 
parts  by  the  race  as  Emancipation  Day,  im 
pended.  The  big  revival — the  biggest  and  most 
tremendously  successful  revival  in  his  people's 
local  history — was  in  full  swing  at  the  Twelfth 
Ward  tabernacle,  affording  thrill  and  entertain 
ment  every  week-night  and  thrice  on  Sundays. 

There  never  had  been  such  a  revival;  prob 
ably  there  never  would  be  another  such.  Jus 
tifiably,  the  pastor  of  Emmanuel  Chapel  took 
credit  to  himself  that  he  had  planted  the  seed 
[  350  ] 


THE    POOR    WHIFFLETIT! 

which  at  this  present  time  so  gloriously  yielded 
harvest.  Theretofore  his  chief  claim  to  public 
attention  had  rested  upon  the  sound  of  the 
name  he  wore.  He  had  been  born  a  Shine  and 
christened  a  Rufus.  But  to  him  the  name  of 
Rufus  Shine  had  seemed  lacking  in  impressive- 
ness  and  euphony  for  use  by  one  about  enter 
ing  the  ministry.  Thanks  to  the  ingenuity  of 
a  white  friend  who  was  addicted  to  puns  and 
plays  upon  words,  the  defect  had  been  cured. 
As  the  Rev.  A.  Risen  Shine  he  bore  a  name 
which  fitted  its  bearer  and  its  bearer's  calling 
— at  once  it  was  a  slogan  and  a  testimony,  a 
trade-mark  and  a  watch-cry. 

Proudly  now  he  walked  the  earth,  broadcast 
ing  the  favor  of  his  smile  on  every  side.  For  it 
had  been  he  who  divined  that  the  times  were 
ripe  for  the  importation  of  that  greatest  of  all 
exhorting  evangelists  of  his  denomination,  the 
famous  Sin  Killer  Wickliffe,  of  Nashville,  Tenn. 
His  had  been  the  zeal  which  inspired  the  con 
gregation  to  form  committees  on  ways  and 
means,  on  place  and  time,  on  finance;  his, 
mainly,  the  energy  behind  the  campaign  for 
subscriptions  which  filled  the  war-chest.  As 
resident  pastor,  chief  promotor,  and  general 
manager  of  the  project,  he  had  headed  the  dele 
gation  which  personally  waited  upon  the  great 
man  at  his  home  and  extended  the  invitation. 
Almost  immediately,  upon  learning  that  the 
amount  of  his  customary  guaranty  already  had 
been  raised  and  deposited  in  bank,  the  Rev. 
[351] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


Wickliffe  felt  that  he  had  a  call  to  come  and 
labor,  and  he  obeyed  it.  He  brought  with  him 
his  entire  organization — his  private  secretary, 
his  treasurer,  his  musical  director.  For,  mind 
you,  the  Sin  Killer  had  borrowed  a  page  from 
the  book  of  certain  distinguished  revivalists  of 
a  paler  skin-pigmentation  than  his.  As  the 
saying  goes  among  the  sinful,  he  saw  his  Cau 
casian  brethren  and  went  them  one  better.  His 
musical  director  was  not  only  an  instrumental 
ist  but  a  composer  as  well.  He  adapted,  he 
wrote,  he  originated,  he  improvised,  he  inter 
polated,  he  orchestrated,  he  played.  As  one 
inspired,  this  genius  played  the  saxophone. 

Now,  in  the  world  at  large  the  saxophone  has 
its  friends  and  its  foes.  Its  detractors  agree 
that  the  late  Emperor  Nero  was  a  maligned 
man;  cruel,  perhaps,  in  some  of  his  aspects, 
but  not  so  cruel  as  has  been  made  out  in  the 
case  against  him.  It  was  a  fiddle  he  played 
while  Rome  burned — it  might  have  been  a  saxo 
phone.  But  to  the  melody-loving  heart  of  the 
black  race  in  our  land  the  mooing  tones  of  this 
long-waisted,  dark-complected  horn  carry  mes 
sages  as  of  great  joy.  It  had  remained,  though, 
for  the  resourceful  Rev.  Wickliffe  to  prove  that  it 
might  be  made  to  fill  a  nobler  and  a  higher  des 
tiny  than  setting  the  feet  of  the  young  men  to 
dancing  and  the  daughters  to  treading  the  syn 
copated  pathways  of  the  ungodly.  Discerning 
this  by  a  sort  of  higher  intuition,  he  had  thrown 
himself  into  the  undertaking  of  luring  the  most 
[352] 


ALAS,      THE      POOR      WHIF 

expert  saxophone  performer  of  his  acquaintance 
away  from  the  flaunting  tents  of  the  transgressor 
and  herding  him  into  the  fold  of  the  safely  re 
generate.  He  succeeded.  He  saved  Cephus 
Fringe,  plucking  him  up  as  a  brand  from  the 
burning,  to  remold  him  into  a  living  torch 
fitted  to  light  the  way  for  others. 

Of  Cephus  it  might  be  said,  paraphrasing  the 
lines  about  little  dog  Rover,  that  when  he  was 
saved  he  was  saved  all  over.  Being  redeemed, 
he  straightway  disbanded  his  orchestra.  He 
tore  up  his  calling-card  reading, 


PROFESSOR  CEPHUS  FRINGE  ESQUIRE 

THE  ANGLO-SAXOPHONE  KING 
Address:  Care  Champey's  Barber-Shop 

BOLE  PROPRIETOR  FRINGE'S  ALL-STAR  TROUPE 


He  enlisted  under  the  militant  banners  and 
on  the  personal  staff  of  the  Sin  Killer.  Amply 
then  was  the  prior  design  of  his  new  commander 
justified.  For  if  it  was  the  eloquence,  the  mag 
netism,  the  compelling  force  of  the  revivalist 
which  brought  the  penitents  shouting  down  the 
tan-bark  trail  to  the  mourner's  bench,  it  was 
the  harmonious  croonings  of  Prof.  Fringe  as  he 
conducted  the  introductory  program — now  ren 
dering  as  a  solo  his  celebrated  original  compo 
sition,  "The  Satan  Blues,"  now  leading  the 
special  choir — which  psychologically  paved  the 
way  for  the  greater  scene  to  follow  after.  There 
was  distress  in  the  devil's  glebe-lands  when  this 
[353  ] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


pair  struck  their  proper  stride — first  the  Frin- 
gian  outpourings  harmoniously  exalting  the  spir 
its  of  the  assemblage  and  then  the  exhorters 
tying  his  hands  to  the  Gospel  plow  and  driving 
down  into  the  populous  valleys  of  sin,  there  to 
furrow  and  harrow,  to  sow  and  tend,  to  garner 
and  glean. 

The  team  had  struck  its  stride  early  at  the 
protracted  meeting  so  competently  fostered  by 
the  resident  pastor  of  Emmanuel  Chapel,  the 
Rev.  A.  Risen  Shine.  To  himself,  as  already 
stated,  the  latter  took  prideful  credit  for  re 
sults  achieved  and  results  promised.  Well  he 
might.  Already  hundreds  of  converts  had  come 
halleluiahing  through;  hundreds  more  teetered 
and  swayed,  back  and  forth,  between  doubt 
and  conviction,  ready  at  a  touch  to  fall  like  the 
ripe  and  sickled  grain  in  the  lap  of  the  hus 
bandman.  Wavering  brethren  had  been  forti 
fied  and  were  made  stalwart  again.  Confirmed 
backsliders  rubbed  their  wayward  feet  in  the 
resin  of  faith  and  were  boosted  up  the  treach 
erous  skids  of  their  temptation  and  over  the 
citadel  walls  to  bask  among  the  chosen  in  a 
Jericho  City  of  repentance.  Proselytes  from 
other  and  hostile  creeds  trooped  over  with  ho- 
sannas  and  loud  outcries  of  rejoicing.  Even  the 
place  where,  each  evening,  the  triumph  of  the 
preceding  evening  was  repeated  and  amplified 
seemed  appropriate  for  such  scenes.  For  the 
Twelfth  Ward  tabernacle  had  not  always  been 
a  tabernacle;  it  had  been  a  tobacco-warehouse 


ALAS,      THE      POOR      WHIFFLETIT! 

— but  it  was  converted.  And  its  present 
chief  ornament,  next  only  to  the  Sin  Killer 
himself — indeed,  its  chiefest  ornament  of  all 
in  the  estimation  of  impressionable  younger 
unmarried  female  members — was  Prof.  Cephus 
Fringe. 

At  thought  of  him  and  of  this,  Jeff  Poindex- 
ter,  reperched  on  his  wabbly  piggin,  wove  his 
furrowed  brow  into  a  closer  and  more  intricate 
pattern  of  cordial  dislike.  For  if  the  main  rea 
son  of  his  unhappiness  was  Ophelia  Stubble- 
field,  the  secondary  reason  and  principal  con 
tributory  cause  was  this  same  Cephus  Fringe. 
Ophelia's  favorite  letter  may  not  have  been  F, 
but  it  should  have  been.  She  was  fair,  fickle, 
fawn- toned,  flirty,  flighty,  and  frequently 
false.  Jeff  cast  back  in  his  mind.  He  certainly 
had  had  his  troubles  since  he  became  perma 
nently  engaged  to  Ophelia.  For  instance,  there 
had  been  her  affair  with  that  ferocious  razor- 
wielder  Smooth  Crumbaugh.  In  this  matter 
the  fortuitous  return  from  the  dead  of  Red 
Hoss  Shackleford,  as  skilfully  engineered  by 
Jeff,  had  broken  up  Red  Hoss's  own  memorial 
services,  had  also  operated  to  scare  Smooth 
Crumbaugh  clean  out  of  Colored  Odd  Fellows' 
Hall  and  leave  the  fainting  Ophelia  in  the  res 
cuing  arms  of  Jeff.  But  there  had  been  half  a 
dozen  other  affairs,  each  of  such  intensity  as 
temporarily  to  undermine  Jeff's  peace  of  mind. 
Between  spells  of  infatuations  for  attractive 
strangers,  she  accepted  Jeff's  devotions.  The 
[355] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


trouble  was,  though,  that  life,  with  Ophelia, 
seemed  to  be  just  one  infatuation  after  another. 
And  now,  to  cap  all,  she  had  suffered  herself, 
nay,  offered  herself,  to  fall  thrall  to  the  dashing 
personality  and  the  varied  accomplishments  of 
this  Fringe  person.  It  was  this  entanglement 
which  for  two  weeks  past  had  made  Jeff,  her 
official  'tween-times  fiance,  a  prey  to  carking 
cares  and  dark  forebodings. 

Hourly  and  daily  the  situation,  from  Jeff's 
point  of  view,  had  grown  more  desperate  as 
Ophelia's  passion  for  the  fascinating  sojourner 
grew.  He  had  even  lost  his  relish  for  victuals 
which,  with  Jeff,  was  indeed  a  serious  sign.  In 
long  periods  of  self-imposed  solitude  he  had  de 
vised  and  discarded  as  hopeless  various  schemes 
for  bringing  discomfiture  upon  his  latest  and 
most  dangerous  rival.  For  a  while  he  had 
thought  somehow,  somewhere,  to  rake  up  proofs 
of  the  interloper's  former  wild  and  reckless  life. 
But  of  what  avail  to  do  that? 

By  his  own  frank  avowal  the  Professor  had 
had  a  spangled  past;  had  been  an  adventurer 
and  a  wanton,  a  wandering  minstrel  bard;  had 
even  been  in  jail.  This  background  of  ad 
mitted  transgressions,  now  that  he  was  so  com 
pletely  reformed  and  reclaimed,  merely  made 
him  an  all-the-more  attractive  figure  in  the 
eyes  of  those  to  whom  he  offered  confession. 
Again,  Jeff  had  trifled  with  a  vague  design  of 
taunting  Fringe  into  a  quarrel  and  beating 
him  up  something  scandalous.  To  this  end  he 
[356]  " 


ALAS,      THE      POOR      WHIFFLETIl! 

tentatively  had  approached  our  leading  expo 
nent  of  the  art  of  self-defense  and  our  most 
dependable  sporting  authority,  one  Mr.  Jerry 
Ditto. 

Mr.  Ditto  had  grown  out  of  a  clerkship  at 
Gus  Neihiem's  cigar-store  into  the  realm  of 
fistiana.  As  a  shadow-boxer  he  excelled;  as  a 
bag-puncher  also.  But  in  an  incautious  hour 
for  himself  and  his  backer,  Flash  Purdy,  owner 
of  Purdy's  Dixieland  Bar,  he  had  permitted 
himself  to  be  entered  for  a  match  before  an 
athletic  club  at  Louisville  against  one  Max 
Schorrer,  a  welter-weight  appearing  profession 
ally  under  the  nom  de  puge  of  Slugging  Fogarty. 
It  was  to  have  been  a  match  of  twelve  rounds, 
but  early  in  the  second  round  Mr.  Ditto  sud 
denly  lost  all  conscious  interest  in  the  proceed 
ings. 

He  retired  from  the  ring  after  this  with  a 
permanent  lump  on  the  point  of  his  jaw  and  a 
profound  conviction  that  the  Lord  had  made 
a  mistake  and  drowned  the  wrong  crowd  that 
time  at  the  Red  Sea.  He  fitted  up  a  gym 
nasium  in  the  old  plow  factory  and  gave  in 
structions  in  sparring  to  the  youth  of  the  town. 
Naturally,  his  patronage  was  all-white,  but  he 
offered  to  take  Jeff  on  for  a  few  strictly  private 
lessons  at  night  provided  Jeff  would  promise 
not  to  tell  anybody  about  it.  But  at  last  the 
prospective  client  drew  back.  His  ways  were 
the  ways  of  peace  and  diplomacy.  Why  de- 
part  from  them?  And,  anyhow,  this  Cephus 
[357] 


SUNDRY      ACCOUNTS 


Fringe  was  so  dog-goned  sinewy-looking.  Play 
ing  a  saxophone  ought  to  give  a  man  wind  and 
endurance.  If  not  knocked  cold  in  the  first 
onslaught  he  might  become  seriously  antago 
nized  toward  Jeff. 

But  now,  in  the  sportive  fablings  of  the 
young  white  gentleman  from  up  North  who 
was  visiting  the  Enders  family,  he  had  found  a 
clue  to  what  he  sought.  The  difficult  point, 
though,  was  to  evolve  the  plan  for  the  plot  nebu 
lously  floating  about  in  his  brain;  for  wnile  he 
envisaged  the  delectable  outcome,  the  scheme 
of  procedure  was  as  yet  entirely  without  form  and 
substance.  It  was  as  though  he  looked  through 
a  tunnel  under  a  hill.  At  the  far  end  he  beheld 
the  sunlight,  but  all  this  side  of  it  was  utter 
darkness.  Seeking  to  pluck  inspiration  out  of 
the  air,  his  roving  eye  fell  upon  the  dappled 
rump  of  Mittie  May  as  she  stood  in  her  stall 
placidly  munching  provender,  and  with  that, 
bang!  inspiration  hit  him  spang  between  the 
eyes. 

To  look  on  her,  ruminative,  ewe-like,  fringed 
of  fetlock  and  deliberate  in  her  customary  am 
blings,  you  would  never  have  reckoned  Mittie 
May  to  be  a  mare^with  a  past.  But  such  was 
the  case.  Her  youth  had  been  spent  in  travel 
over  the  continent  with  a  tented  caravan;  in 
short,  a  circus.  Her  broad  flat  top-side,  her 
dependable  gait,  her  amiable  disposition,  her 
color — white  with  darkish  half -moons  on  shoul- 
der  and  flank — all  these  admirably  had  fitted 

[358  ]  " 


ALAS,      THE      POOR      WHIFFLETIl! 

her  for  the  ring.  When,  long  years  before, 
Hooper's  wagon-shows  came  to  grief  in  our  town 
Mittie  May  had  been  seized  by  Farrell  Broth 
ers  to  satisfy  an  unpaid  hay-bill. 

Through  her  sobering  maturer  years  she  had 
passed  from  one  set  of  hands  to  another,  until 
finally,  in  her  declining  days,  she  found  asylum 
in  the  affectionate  ownership  of  Judge  Priest, 
with  Jeff  to  curry  her  fat  sides  and  no  more 
arduous  labor  to  perform  than  occasionally  to 
draw  the  Judge  about  from  place  to  place  in 
his  ancient  shovel-topped  buggy.  About  her 
now  there  was  naught  to  suggest  the  prancing 
rozin-back  she  once  had  been;  the  very  look 
of  her  eye  conjured  up  images  of  simple  pastoral 
scenes — green  meadows  and  purling  brooks. 

But  let  a  certain  signal  be  sounded  and  on 
top  of  that  let  a  certain  air  be  played  and  Mit 
tie  May,  instantly  losing  that  air  she  had  of  a 
venerable  and  dignified  sheep,  became  a  Mittie 
May  transformed;  a  Mittie  May  reverted  to 
another  and  more  feverish  time;  a  Mittie  May 
stirred  by  olden  memories  to  nightmarish  per 
formances.  By  chance  once  Jeff  had  happened 
upon  her  secret,  and  now,  all  in  one  illuminat 
ing  flash,  recalling  the  conditions  governing  this 
discovery,  he  gave  vent  to  a  low  anticipatory 
chuckle.  It  was  the  first  chuckle  he  had  uttered 
in  a  fortnight,  and  this  one  was  edged  with  a 
sinister  portent.  He  had  his  idea  now.  He 
had  at  hand  the  agency  for  bringing  the  scheme 
to  fruition.  But  yet  there  remained  much  of 
[359] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


preliminary  detail  to  be  worked  out.  His  plan 
still  was  like  a  fine-toothed  comb  which  has 
seen  hard  usage  in  a  wiry  thatch — there  were 
wide  gaps  between  its  prongs. 

Jeff  gave  himself  over  to  sustained  thought. 
He  made  calculations  calendar-wise.  This  was 
the  first  day  of  August;  the  eighth,  therefore, 
was  but  seven  short  days  removed.  This  plot 
of  his  seemed  to  resemble  a  number  of  things. 
It  was  like  a  piece  of  pottery,  too.  First  the 
plastic  clay  must  be  assembled,  then  the  vessel 
itself  turned  from  it;  finally  the  completed 
product  must  be  given  time  to  harden  before 
it  would  be  ready  for  use.  He  must  move  fast 
but  warily. 

To  begin  with,  now,  he  must  create  a  setting 
of  plausibility  for  the  role  he  meant,  in  certain 
quarters,  to  essay;  must  dress  the  character, 
as  it  were,  in  its  correct  housings  and  provide 
just  the  right  touches  of  local  color.  Ready  at 
hand  was  Aunt  Dilsey;  he  would  make  her, 
unwittingly  so  far  as  she  kenned,  a  supporting 
member  of  the  cast.  She  would  never  know  it, 
but  she  would  play  an  accessory  part,  small 
but  important,  in  his  prologue. 

Five  minutes  later  she  lifted  her  eyebrows  in 
surprise.  As  he  reinserted  himself  half-way 
across  the  portals  of  the  realm  where  she 
queened  it  his  recent  moroseness  was  quite 
gone  from  him.  About  him  now  was  the  sug 
gestion,  subtly  conveyed,  that  here  stood  one 
who,  after  profound  cogitation,  had  found  out 
[360] 


THE    POOR    WHIFFLETIT! 

what  ailed  him  and,  by  the  finding  out,  was 
filled  with  a  gentle,  chastened  satisfaction.  He 
seated  himself  on  the  kitchen  door-step,  facing 
outward  so  that  comparative  safety  might  be 
attained  with  a  single  flying  leap  did  her  un 
certain  temper,  flaring  up  suddenly,  lead  her 
to  acts  of  hostility  before  he  succeeded  in  win 
ning  her  over.  He  uttered  a  long-drawn  sigh, 
then  sat  a  minute  in  silence.  In  silence,  too — a 
suspicious,  menacing  silence — she  glared  at  him. 

"Aunt  Dilsey,"  he  ventured,  speaking  over 
his  shoulder,  with  his  face  averted  from  her, 
"mebbe  you  been  noticin'  yere  lately  I  seemed 
kind  of  downcasted  an'  shiftless,  lak  ez  ef  I  had 
a  mood  on  me?" 

"Has  I  noticed  it?"  she  repeated— "huh!" 
The  punctuating  grunt  was  non-committal.  It 
might  mean  nothing;  it  might  mean  anything. 

He  cleared  his  throat  and  went  on, 

"An',  mebbe — I  ain't  sayin'  you  actually  is; 
I's  sayin'  it  with  a  mebbe — mebbe  you  been 
marvelin'  in  yore  mind  whut  it  wuz  w'ich  pes 
tered  me  an'  made  me  ack  so  kind  of  no- 
'count?" 

"I  ain't  needin'  to  marvel,"  she  stated  coldly. 
"I  knows.  Laziness!  Jes'  pyure  summer-time 
nigger  laziness,  wid  a  rich  streak  of  meanness 
th'owed  in." 

"Nome,  you  is  wrong,"  he  corrected  her 
gently.  "You  is  wrong  there.  'Ca'se  likewise 
an*  furthermo'  I  also  is  been  off  my  feed — 
ain't  that  a  sign  to  you?" 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


"Sign  of  a  tapeworm,  I  'spects." 

"Don't  say  that,  please,  Ma'am,"  he  humbly 
pleaded.  "You  speakin'  in  sich  a  way  meks 
me  'most  discouraged  to  confide  in  you  whut  I 
aims  to  confide  in  you.  I'm  tellin'  it  to  you 
the  fust  one,  too.  'Tain't  nary  'nother  soul 
heared  it.  Aunt  Dilsey,  I's  grateful  to  you  in 
my  heart,  honest  I  is,  fur  runnin'  me  'way  frum 
yore  presence  yere  jes'  a  little  w'ile  ago.  You 
never  knowed  it  at  the  time — I  didn't  s'picion 
it  also  neither  —  but  you  done  me  a  favor. 
'Ca'se  settin'  out  yonder  in  the  stable  all  alone 
and  ponderin'  deep,  all  of  a  sudden  somethin' 
jes'  come  right  over  me  an'  I  knowed  whut's 
been  the  matter  wid  me  lately.  Aunt  Dilsey, 
I's  felt  the  quickenin'  tech." 

"Better  fur  you  ef  somebody  made  you  feel 
de  quickenin'  buggy- whup." 

He  disregarded  the  brutal  suggestion. 

"Yessum,  I's  felt  the  quickenin'  tech.  Ez 
you  doubtless  full  well  knows,  I  ain't  been 
'tendin'  much  'pon  the  big  revival.  But  even 
so — even  an'  evermo'  so — the  influence  frum 
it  done  stretch  fo'th  its  hand  an'  reach  me.  I 
ain't  sayin'  I's  plum  won  over  yit,  but  'way 
down  deep  insides  of  me  I's  stirred — yessum, 
tha's  the  word — stirred.  I  ain't  sayin'  the  spirit 
of  grace  is  actually  th'owed  me,  but  I  feel 
prone  to  say  I  thinks  it's  fixin'  to  rassle  wid 
me.  I  ain't  sayin'  I  stands  convicted,  but  I 
aims  to  be  a  searcher  fur  the  truth;  I  aims  to 
stop,  look,  an'  lissen.  I  ain't  sayin' — "  He 
[362] 


ALAS,      THE      POOR     WHIFFLETIT! 

broke  off,  the  floods  of  his  imagery  dammed  by 
the  skeptical  eye  which  swept  him;  then  made 
a  lame  conclusion,  "Tha's  whut  I  sez,  Ma'am, 
to  you  in  strict  confidences." 

"Den  lemme  say  somethin'  to  you.  You  fig- 
gers  it's  salvation  you  needs,  huh?  I  figgers  it's 
vermifuge.  Oh,  I  knows  you,  boy — I  knows 
you  f'um  de  grass-roots  up.  Still  an'  wid  all 
dat,  ef  you  should  crave  to  mend  yo'  ways — 
an'  de  Heavens  above  knows  dey  kin  stand  a 
heap  of  mendin'! — I  ain't  gwine  be  de  one  to 
hender  you." 

Against  her  better  judgment  her  tone  was 
softening.  For  she  gave  her  allegiance  unre 
strainedly  to  the  doctrine  preached  at  Emman 
uel  Chapel.  She  was  one  of  its  stanch  pillows. 
Indeed,  it  might  be  said  of  her  that  she  was 
one  of  its  plumpest  bolsters;  and  Jeff,  although 
admittedly  of  no  religious  persuasion,  had  grown 
up  in  the  shadow  of  a  differing  creed.  The 
winning  over  of  the  black  ram  of  another  fold 
would  be  a  greater  victory  than  the  reclama 
tion  of  any  wandering  sheep  who  had  been 
reared  as  a  true  believer. 

"Well,  boy,"  she  went  on,  in  this  nfw  mood, 
"let  us  hope  an'  pray  dat  in  yore  dase  dey's 
yit  hope.  De  ways  of  de  Almighty  is  pas' 
findin'  out.  Fur  do  not  de  Scriptures  say  dey's 
room  fur  both  man  an'  beast? — de  maid  serv 
ant  an'  de  man  servant,  de  ox  an'  de  ass,  dey 
all  may  enter  in?  So  dey  mout  be  a  skimsy, 
bare  chanct  fur  sech  even  ez  you  is.  One  thing 
[363  ] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


shore — ef  dey's  ary  grain  of  contritefulness  in 
yore  soul,  trust  de  Sin  Killer  to  fetch  it  fo'th 
to  de  light  of  day.  He's  de  ole  fambly  doctor 
w'en  it  come  to  dat  kind  of  sickness.  You  go 
to  dat  tabernickle  to-night  an'  you  keep  on 
goin'  an'  le's  see  whut  come  to  pass.  .  .  . 
Jeffy,  dey's  a  little  mossil  of  cold  peach  cob 
bler  lef  over  f'um  dinner  yistiddy  settin'  up 
yonder  amongst  de  shelf s  of  my  cu'board!" 

"Nome,  thank  you,"  said  Jeff.  "The  emo 
tions  w'ich  is  in  me  seems  lak  they  ain't  left 
me  no  room  fur  nothin'  else.  Seems  lak  I 
can't  git  my  mind  on  vittles  yit.  But  I  shore 
aims  to  be  at  the  tabernickle  to-night,  Aunt 
Dilsey — I  means,  Sist'  Dilsey.  You  jes'  watch 
me.  Tha's  all  I  asts  of  you  now — jes'  watch 
me!" 

Head  down  and  shoulders  hunched,  in  the 
manner  of  one  barkening  to  inner  voices,  Jeff 
betook  himself  around  the  corner  of  the  back 
porch.  Once  out  of  her  sight,  though,  he  flung 
from  him  his  mien  of  absorption.  The  over 
ture  had  been  rendered;  there  remained  much 
to  be  done  before  the  curtain  rose.  The  lan 
guorous  shade  invited  one  to  tarry  and  rest, 
but  Jeff  breasted  the  sunshine,  going  hither 
and  yon  upon  his  errands.  Back  of  a  cabin  on 
Plunket's  Hill  he  had  private  conference  with 
one  Gumbo  Rollins,  by  profession  a  carnival 
concessionaire  and  purveyor  of  amusements  in 
a  small  way.  No  cash  actually  changed  hands, 
but  on  Jeff's  part  there  was  a  promise  of  moneys 

[364] 


THE    POOR    WHIFFLETIT! 

to  be  paid  in  the  event  of  certain  as-yet-prob 
lematical  contingencies. 

Next  he  sought  for  and,  at  the  Bleeding 
Heart  restaurant,  found  a  limber  individual 
named  Tecumseh  Sherman  Glass,  called  Gump 
for  short.  This  Tecumseh  Sherman  Glass  was 
a  person  of  two  trades  and  one  outstanding 
trait.  By  day  a  short-order  cook,  by  night  he 
played  in  'Gustus  Hillman's  Colored  String 
Band.  It  is  to  be  marked  down  in  the  reader's 
memory  that  the  instrument  he  played  was  the 
saxophone;  also  that  he  was  heavily  impreg 
nated  with  that  form  of  professional  jealousy 
which  lurks  in  the  souls  of  so  many  artistes;  like 
wise  that  he  was  a  member  in  fair  standing  of 
the  Rev.  A.  Risen  Shine's  congregation,  and, 
finally,  that  he  was  a  born  meddler  in  other 
folks'  affairs.  These  facts  all  should  be  borne 
in  mind;  they  have  their  value. 

With  Tecumseh  Sherman  Glass,  Jeff  spent 
some  time  in  a  confidential  exchange  of  words. 
Here,  again,  the  matter  of  a  subsequent  finan 
cial  reward,  to  be  paid  by  the  party  of  the  first 
part,  meaning  Jeff,  to  the  party  of  the  second 
part,  meaning  Gump,  following  the  satisfactory 
outcome  of  sundry  developments,  was  arranged. 
Would  there  were  space  to  tell  how  cunningly, 
how  craftily  Jeff,  in  the  subtleties  marking  this 
interview,  played  upon  three  chords  in  the 
other's  being — the  chord  of  vengeful  envy,  the 
chord  of  malice,  the  chord  of  avarice.  There  is 
not  space. 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


Four  o'clock  found  the  plotter  entering  the 
parlor  of  what  once  had  been  the  establish 
ment  of  T.  Marshall,  undertaker,  now  the  Elite 
Colored  Funeral  Home,  Marshall  &  Kivil,  pro 
prietors.  These  transformations  had  dated  from 
the  time  Percy  C.  Kivil  (Tuskegee  '18)  entered 
the  firm.  Here  was  no  plain  undertaker.  Here 
was  an  expert  and  a  graduate  mortician,  with 
diploma  to  prove  it;  also  one  gifted  of  the  pen. 
Two  inscriptions  done  in  flowing  type  hung  on 
the  wall.  One  of  these  inscriptions  read: 

Oh,  Death,  where  is  thy  sting 

When  we  officiates? 
Embalming  done  attentively 

At  standard  pre-war  rates. 

And  the  other: 

Blest  be  the  tie  that  binds! 

Tho  death  thy  form  may  shake. 
Call  in  a  brother  of  thy  race 

And  let  him  undertake! 

At  a  desk  between  these  two  decorative  ob 
jects  and  half  shadowed  by  the  bright-green 
fronds  of  a  large  artificial  palm,  sat  ^Esop  Lov 
ing,  son-in-law  of  the  senior  partner.  From  his 
parent-by-marriage  ^Esop  had  borrowed  desk- 
room  for  the  carrying  on  of  the  multitudinous 
business  relating  to  the  general  management  of 
one  of  the  celebrations  projected  in  honor,  and 
on  account  of,  the  Eighth  of  August.  He  might 
appear  to  be  absorbed  in  important  details,  as 
he  now  did.  But  inside  of  him  he  was  not 
happy  and  Jeff  knew  the  reasons;  the  reasons 
[366] 


ALAS,      THE      POOR     WHIFFLETIx! 

were  common  rumor.  This  year  there  was  to 
be  more  than  one  celebration;  there  were  to  be 
two;  and  the  opposition,  organizing  secretly 
and  stealing  a  march  on  that  usually  wide 
awake  person,  /Esop,  had  rented  Belt  Line  Park, 
thus  forcing  ^Esop's  crowd  to  make  a  poor  sec 
ond  choice  of  the  old  show-grounds,  a  treeless 
common  away  out  near  the  end  of  Tennessee 
Street.  On  top  of  this  and  in  an  unexpected 
quarter,  even  more  formidable  competition  was 
foreshadowed.  A  scant  eighth  of  a  mile  distant 
from  the  show-lot  and  on  the  same  thorough 
fare  stood  the  Twelfth  Ward  tabernacle,  and 
here  services  would  be  held  both  afternoon  and 
evening  of  the  Eighth.  The  Rev.  Wickliffe  had 
so  announced,  and  the  Rev.  Shine  had  backed 
him  in  the  decision. 

It  was  inevitable,  with  this  surpassing  mag 
net  of  popular  interest  so  near  at  hand,  that 
for  every  truant  convert  who  might  halt  to 
taste  of  the  pleasures  provided  by  Msop  Lov 
ing  and  his  associate  promoters,  half  a  dozen 
possible  patrons  would  pass  on  by  and  beyond, 
drawn  away  by  the  compelling  power  of  the 
Sin  Killer's  eloquence.  Representations  had 
been  made  to  the  revivalist  that,  with  propri 
ety,  he  might  suspend  his  ministry  for  the  great 
day.  His  answer  was  the  declaration  that  on 
the  Eighth  he  would  preach  not  merely  once, 
but  twice. 

By  him  and  his  there  would  be  no  temporiz- 
ing  with  the  powers  of  evil,  however  insidiously 
[367] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


cloaked.  Would  not  dancing  be  included  in  the 
entertainments  planned  by  these  self-seeking 
laymen  who  now  approached  him?  Would  not 
there  be  idle  sports  and  vain  pastimes  calcu 
lated  to  entice  the  hearts  of  the  populace  away 
from  consideration  of  the  welfare  of  their  own 
souls?  Admittedly  there  would  be  drinking  of 
soft  drinks.  And  into  the  advertised  softness 
some  hardness  assuredly  would  slip.  You  could 
not  fool  the  Sin  Killer.  Having  taken  a  firm 
stand,  his  rectitude  presently  moved  him  to 
further  steps.  On  his  behalf  it  was  stated  that 
he,  personally,  would  lead  the  elect  in  trium 
phant  procession  out  Tennessee  Street  to  the 
tabernacle  between  the  afternoon  preaching  and 
the  evening.  As  an  army  with  banners,  the 
saved,  the  sober,  and  the  seeking  would  march 
past,  thus  attesting  their  fealty  to  the  cause 
which  moved  them.  He  defied  all  earthly  forces 
to  lure  a  single  one  from  the  ranks. 

And,  after  the  preaching,  under  his  auspices, 
there  would  be  a  mighty  cutting  of  watermel 
ons  for  those  deemed  to  be  qualified  to  partici 
pate  therein.  By  the  strict  tenets  of  the  Rev. 
Wickliffe's  theology  it  seemed  that  watermelons 
were  almost  the  only  luscious  things  of  this  car 
nal  world  not  held  to  be  potentially  or  openly 
sinful.  Small  wonder  then  that  Jeff,  jauntily 
entering  the  Elite  Funeral  Home,  read  traces  of 
an  ill-concealed  distress  writ  plain  upon  the 
face  of  JSsop  Loving. 

"Well,  Brother  Lovin',  you  shore  does  look 
[368]  


ALAS,      THE      POOR      WHIFFLETIx! 

lak  you'd  hung  yore  harp  'pon  the  wilier-tree 
an'  wuz  fixin'  to  tek  in  sorrow  fur  a  livin',"  he 
said  in  greeting.  "Cheer  yo'se'f  up;  'tain't 
nothin'  so  worse  but  whut  it  mout  be  worser." 

"Easy  fur  you  to  say  so,  Brother  Poindexter; 
harder  fur  me  to  do  so,"  stated  ^Esop.  "Galli- 
vantin'  'round  the  way  you  is,  you  ain't  got  no 
idea  of  the  aggervations  w'ich  keeps  comin'  up 
in  connection  wid  an  occasion  sech  ez  this  one, 
an'  mo'  'specially  the  aggervations  w'ich  pus- 
sonally  afflicts  the  director-general  of  the  same, 
w'ich  I  is  him." 

"I  been  hearin'  some  things  myse'f,"  said  Jeff. 
"Word  is  come  to  me,  fur  one  thing,  that  this 
yere  smart-ellicky  gang  out  at  the  Belt  Line 
Park  is  aimin'  to  try  to  cut  some  of  the  groun' 
frum  under  yore  feet.  I  regrets  to  hear  it." 

"'Tain't  them  so  much,"  said  ^Esop.  "We 
couldn't  'spect  to  go  'long  havin'  a  nomopoly 
furever.  Sooner  or  late  they  wuz  bound  to  be 
opposition  arisin'  up.  'Tain't  them  so  much, 
although  I  will  say  it  wuz  a  low-flung  trick  to  tek 
an'  rent  that  park  right  out  frum  under  our 
noses  'thout  givin'  us  no  warnin'  so's  we  mout 
go  an'  rent  it  fu'st.  No,  hit's  the  action  of  that 
Emmanuel  Chapel  bunch  w'ich  gives  me  the 
mos'  deepest  concern.  Seems  lak  ev'ry  time 
that  Rev'n'  Sin  Killer  open  his  mouth  I  kin 
feel  cold  cash  crawlin'  right  out  of  my  pocket. 
Mind  you,  Brother  Poindexter,  I  ain't  got  a 
word  to  say  ag'in  religion.  I's  strong  fur  it  on 
Sundays,  ez  you  well  knows,  but  dog-gone  re- 
[369.] 


SUNDRY      ACCOUNTS 

ligion  w'en  it  come  interferin'  wid  a  pusson's 
chanct  to  pick  up  a  little  spare  change  fur  his- 
se'f  on  a  week-day!" 

"Spoke  lak  a  true  business  man,  Brother 
LovinY'  said  Jeff.  "Still,  I  reckin  you's  mebbe 
eountin'  the  spoilt  eggs  'fore  they's  all  laid. 
The  way  I  sees  it,  you'll  do  fairly  well,  never 
theless  an'  to  the  contrary  notwithstandin'. 
Le's  see.  Ain't  you  goin'  to  have  the  dancin'- 
pavilion  goin'  all  day?" 

"Yas,  but—" 

"Ain't  you  goin'  to  have  money  rollin'  in 
frum  all  the  snack-stands  an'  frum  the  fried- 
fish  privilege  an'  frum  the  cane  rackits  an'  frum 
the  knock-the-babies-down  an'  all?" 

"Tubby  shore,  but—" 

"Ain't  you  due  to  pick  up  a  right  smart  frum 
the  kitty  of  the  private  crap  game  an'  the 
chuck-a-luck  layout?" 

"Natchelly.    But—" 

"Hole  on;  I  ain't  th'ough  yit.  Seems  lak  to 
me  you  ain't  properly  counted  up  yore  blessin's 
a-tall.  Ain't  the  near-beer — "  he  sank  his  voice 
discreetly,  although  there  was  no  one  to  overhear 

-"ain't  the  near-beer  an'  the  still  nearer  beer 
goin'  fetch  you  in  a  right  peart  HP  income?  I'll 
say  they  is.  An'  ain't  you  goin'  do  mighty  well 
on  yore  own  account  out  of  yore  share  of 
the  commission  frum  Gumbo  Rollinses'  Flyin' 
Jinny?" 

"Hole  on,  hole  on!  How  come  Gumbo  Rol- 
lins?" 

[370] 


THE    POOR    WHIFFLETIT! 

"W'y  tha's  all  fixed,"  stated  Jeff.  "Gumbo 
he'll  be  out  there  'fore  sunup  on  the  'p'inted 
day  wid  his  ole  Flyin'  Jinny  an'  his  ole  grind- 
organ  an'- 

"Tain't  nothin'  fixed,"  demurred  the  aston 
ished  and  indignant  JSsop.  "'Tain't  nothin' 
fixed  'thout  I  fixes  it.  Ain't  I  had  pestermints 
'nuff  las'  yeah  settlin'  up,  or  tryin'  to,  wid 
that  Rollins?  Ain't  I  told  him  then  that  never 
ag'in  would  I — " 

"Oh,  tha's  settled,"  announced  Jeff  sooth 
ingly. 

"Who  settled  it?" 

"Me." 

"You?" 

"Yas,  me — out  of  pyure  friendship  fur  you. 
Lissen,  Brother  Lovin',  an'  give  due  heed.  I 
comes  to  you  d'rect  frum  Gumbo  Rollins.  He's 
done  seen  the  error  of  the  way  he  acked  tow'ds 
you  that  time.  He's  cravin'  that  all  the  grudges 
of  the  bygone  past  shall  be  disremembered. 
Here's  whut  he's  goin'  to  do:  He's  goin'  give 
yore  organization  the  reg'lar  cut,  an'  'pon  top 
of  that  he's  goin'  hand  you,  pussonally  an'  pri 
vate,  a  special  extra  five  pur  cent,  on  all  he 
teks  in;  that  comes  ez  a  free-will  offerin'  to 
you.  He's  goin'  'bandon  his  plan  to  run  ez  a 
independint  attraction  on  the  Eighth  down  back 
of  the  market-house.  He's  goin'  be  wid  you 
heart  an'  soul  an'  Flyin'  Jinny.  All  he  asts, 
through  me,  is  that  he  kin  have  the  right  to  set 
her  up  on  the  purtic'lar  spot  w'ich  he's  got  in 
[371] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


mind  out  there  on  them  show-ground  lots.  An' 
finally  an'  furthermo'  he's  done  commission  me 
to  hand  you  ten  dollars,  unbeknownst  to  any 
body,  jes'  to  prove  to  you  that  his  heart's  in 
the  right  place  an'  that  he's  wishful  fur  to  do 
the  square  thing."  He  felt  in  his  pockets,  pro 
ducing  a  crumpled  bill.  "An'  here  'tis!" 

JEsop  pouched  the  currency  on  the  flank 
where  he  carried  his  personal  funds  before  his 
commercial  instinct  inspired  him  to  seek  out  the 
motives  actuating  the  volunteer  peacemaker. 
Experience  had  taught  him  to  beware  of  Greeks 
bearing  gifts — not  of  the  gifts  particularly,  but 
of  the  Greeks. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "ef  Gumbo  Rollins  aims  to 
be  honest  an'  open  an'  abovebode  wid  us,  w'y 
that  puts  a  diff'unt  face  on  it.  But  so  fur  ez  I 
beared  tell,  you  an'  Gumbo  Rollins  ain't  been 
so  thick  ez  all  this  up  till  now.  I's  wonderin' 
whut  does  you  'spect  to  git  out  of  the  little 
transaction  fur  yo'se'f?  'Ca'se  I  gives  you 
warnin'  right  yere  an'  now  that  ef  you's  hopin' 
to  git  a  split  out  of  me  you  mout  jes'  ez  well 
stop  dreamin'  ary  sech  a  delusion  an'  become 
undelirious  ag'in." 

"Stop,  Brother  Lovin',"  broke  in  Jeff  in  the 
tone  of  one  aggrieved  at  being  unjustly  accused. 
"Has  I  asted  you  fur  anything?  Then  wait  till 
I  does  so." 

"All  right,"  agreed  ^Esop.  "I'll  wait  till  you 
does  so  an'  w'en  you  does  so  I'll  say  no,  same 
ez  I's  already  sayin'  it  to  you  in  advance. 
[372] 


ALAS,      THE      POOR      WHIFFLETIx! 

Say,  boy,  you  must  have  yore  reasons  fur  the 
hit 'rust  you  is  displayin'  in  dis  matter." 

"Whutever  'tis  'taint  got  nothin'  to  do  wid 
lurin'  no  money  out  of  yore  possession,"  said 
Jeff.  His  voice  changed  to  one  of  deep  gravity. 
"Brother  Lovin',  look  yere  at  me." 

He  glanced  about  him,  making  doubly  sure 
they  were  alone.  He  advanced  one  step  and 
came  to  a  halt;  he  made  his  figure  rigid  and 
gave  first  the  grand  hailing-sign  of  the  Afro- 
American  Society  of  Supreme  Kings  of  the  Uni 
verse,  then  the  private  signal  of  distress  which 
invokes  succor  and  support,  and  he  wound  up 
by  uttering  the  cabalistic  words  which  bind  a 
fellow  Supreme  King  in  the  vows  of  eternal  se 
crecy  on  pain  of  having  his  heart  cut  out  of  his 
bosom  and  burned  and  the  ashes  scattered  to 
the  four  winds.  For  his  part,  Msop  Loving 
arose  and,  obeying  the  ritual,  made  the  proper 
responses.  In  a  solemn  silence  they  exchanged 
the  symbolic  grip  which  is  reserved  only  for 
occasions  of  emergency  and  stress  and  which 
unites  brother  to  brother  in  bonds  stronger 
than  steel.  A  moment  later  JEsop  Loving  was 
alone. 

It  was  not  Jeff,  the  intriguer,  who  had  col- 
leagued  with  Gumbo  Rollins  and  conspired 
with  Cump  Glass,  who  came  in  the  evening  to 
the  Twelfth  Ward  tabernacle  and  sought  a  seat 
on  a  bench  well  up  toward  the  front  where  he 
could  be  fairly  conspicuous  and  yet  not  too 
conspicuous;  neither  was  it  the  persuasive  per- 
[373] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


son  who  had  dangled  the  bait  of  private  profit 
before  the  beguiled  eyes  of  JSsop  Loving. 
Rather  was  it  the  serious,  self -searching,  intro 
spective  Jeff,  who  earlier  that  day  had  besought 
counsel  and  comfort  of  Aunt  Dilsey  Turner. 
He  came  alone,  walking  with  head  bowed  as 
walks  one  who  is  wrapped  in  his  own  thoughts. 
He  arrived  betimes;  he  remained  silent  and 
apart,  inwardly  communing,  one  would  have 
said,  while  the  audience  rustled  in. 

So  engrossed  was  he  that  he  seemed  to  have 
no  eyes  even  for  Ophelia,  who  perched  high 
aloft,  the  brightest  flower  in  the  hanging  gar 
den  of  color  that  banked  the  tiers  of  the  choir 
division  terracing  up  behind  the  platform.  She, 
in  turn,  had  no  eyes  for  any  there  save  Prof. 
Cephus  Fringe,  who,  it  should  be  added,  had 
one  eye  for  Ophelia  and  the  other  for  his  own 
person.  Even  by  those  prejudiced  in  his  favor 
it  was  not  to  be  denied  that  the  Professor  was, 
as  one  might  say,  passionately  addicted  to  him 
self.  When,  with  Cephus  Fringe  accompany 
ing  and  directing,  the  opening  hymn  was  of 
fered,  Ophelia,  lifting  high  her  soprano  voice, 
sang  directly  at,  to,  and  for  him.  From  the 
front  this  plainly  was  to  be  observed;  in  fact 
was  the  subject  of  whispered  comment  among 
some  of  Jeff's  neighbors. 

As  though  he  heard  them  not  nor  saw  the  by 
play,  he  gave  no  sign  which  might  be  in 
terpreted  as  denoting  annoyance  or  chagrin. 
There  was  only  a  friendly  and  whole-souled 


ALAS,      THE      POOR     WHIFFLETIT! 

approval  in  his  look  when,  following  the  song, 
Prof.  Fringe  rendered — I  believe  this  is  the  cus 
tomary  phrase — rendered  as  a  solo  on  his  saxo 
phone  one  of  the  compositions  bearing  his  name 
as  author.  There  was  rapt  attention  and  naught 
else  in  his  pose  and  on  his  face  the  while  the 
Rev.  Wickliffe,  swinging  his  scythe  of  right 
eousness,  mowed  for  a  solid  hour  in  Satan's 
weedy  back  yard,  so  that  the  penitents  fell  in 
a  broad  swath. 

From  her  place  hard  by,  Aunt  Dilsey  vigi 
lantly  watched  Jeff  and  was,  in  spite  of  herself, 
convinced  of  his  sincerity.  She  marked  how, 
at  the  close  of  the  meeting,  he  passed  slowly, 
almost  reluctantly  out,  stopping  more  than  once 
and  looking  rearward  as  though  half  inclined  to 
turn  back  and  join  the  ranks  of  those  who  clus 
tered  still  at  the  foot  of  the  pulpit,  completely 
and  utterly  won  over.  She  was  moved  to  di 
rect  the  notice  of  certain  of  the  sistren  and 
brethren  to  his  behavior  as  conspicuous  proof 
of  the  compelling  fervor  of  the  Sin  Killer. 
Swiftly  the  word  spread  that  Jeff  Poindexter 
magically  had  ceased  to  be  a  horrible  example 
and  was  betraying  evidences  that  he  might  yet 
become  what  insurance  agents  call  a  prospect. 

As  though  to  justify  this  hope  Jeff  attended 
Tuesday  night;  his  presence  attesting  him  a 
well-wisher,  his  deportment  an  added  testimony 
that  he  deeply  had  been  stirred  by  the  out 
poured  words  of  the  revivalist.  Before  the  serv- 
'ce  got  under  way  he  seized  upon  an  oppor- 
[375] 


SUNDRY      ACCOUNTS 


tunity  to  be  introduced  to  the  Rev.  Wickliffe. 
Many  were  spectators  to  the  meeting  between 
them,  and  speculation  ran  higher  upon  the  pos 
sibility  that  before  the  week  ended  he  would 
be  enrolled  among  the  avowedly  convicted. 
Again  on  Wednesday  night  he  was  on  hand,  an 
attentive  and  earnest  listener. 

Prior  to  the  preliminary  exercise  of  song  on 
this  night,  the  Rev.  Wickliffe  outlined  the  am 
plified  plans  for  the  great  moral  jubilation  on 
the  evening  of  the  Eighth  and  invited  sugges 
tions  from  the  assemblage  to  the  end  that 
naught  be  overlooked  which  might  add  to  its 
splendors.  At  this  invitation,  almost  as  though 
he  had  been  awaiting  some  such  favorable  open 
ing,  there  stood  up  promptly  Tecumseh  Sher 
man  Glass,  and  Tecumseh  made  a  certain  mo 
tion  which  on  being  put  to  the  vote  of  the 
house  carried  unanimously  amid  sounds  of  a 
general  approval.  Some  applauded,  no  doubt, 
because  of  the  popularity  of  the  idea  embodied 
in  the  motion  and  some  perhaps  because  the 
brother,  in  offering  it,  was  deemed  to  have  dis 
played  a  most  generous,  a  most  becoming,  and 
a  totally  unexpected  spirit  of  magnanimity  to 
ward  a  fellow  professional  occupying  a  place 
which  Gump  Glass  or  any  other  saxophonist 
might  well  envy  him. 

If  at  this  Jeff's  heart  gave  a  joyous  jump  in 
side  of  him,  his  face  remained  a  mask  to  hide 
his  real  feelings.  If,  privily,  by  day  he  labored 
to  gather  up  al!  the  loose  ends  of  his  shaping 
[376] 


ALAS,      THE      POOR     WHIFFLETITl 

design,  publicly  by  night  he  patronized  the 
tabernacle.  He  was  present  on  Thursday  night 
and  on  Friday  and  on  Saturday,  and  three 
times  on  Sunday  he  was  present,  maintaining 
still  his  outward  bearing  of  interest  and  sym 
pathy.  He  was  like  a  tree  which  bends  before 
the  compelling  blast  yet  refuses  for  a  little 
while  longer  to  topple  headlong.  This  brings 
us  up  to  Monday,  the  Glorious  Eighth. 

With  the  morning  of  that  day  or  with  its 
nooning  or  with  its  afternooning  we  need  have 
no  concern,  replete  though  they  were  in  variety  of 
entertainment  and  abounding  in  pleasurable  in 
cident.  For  us  the  interest  chiefly  centers  in 
the  early  evening  and  especially  in  that  part 
of  the  evening  falling  between  seven  o'clock 
and  forty  minutes  past  seven.  At  seven,  prompt 
on  the  clock's  stroke  and  as  guaranteed  in  the 
announcements,  the  parade  fathered  by  the 
Rev.  Wickliffe,  started  from  the  corner  of  Ten 
nessee  and  Front  Streets,  down  by  the  river, 
and  wended,  as  the  saying  goes,  its  way  due 
westward  into  the  sunset's  painted  afterglow. 

This  was  a  parade!  A  great  man  had  sired 
it;  a  tried  organizer  had  fostered  it;  proved 
executives  had  worked  out  the  problems  of  its 
divisions  and  its  groupings.  At  its  head,  suit 
ably  mounted  upon  a  white  steed,  rode  a  grand 
marshal  who  was  more  than  a  grand  marshal. 
For  in  his  one  person  this  dignitary  combined 
two  parts:  not  only  was  he  the  grand  marshal 
with  a  broad  sash  draped  diagonally  across  his 
[377] 


SUNDRY      ACCOUNTS 


torso  to  prove  it,  but  likewise  he  was  the  offi 
cial  trumpeter.    At  intervals  he  raised  his  horn 
to  his  lips  and  sounded  forth  inspiring  notes. 
That  his  horn  was  neither  a  trumpet  nor  yet  a 
bugle  but  a  long,  goose-necked  thing  might  be 
regarded  as  merely  a  detail.     Only  one  who 
was  overly  technical  would  have  noted  the  cir 
cumstance  at  all.    Behind  him,  sixteen  abreast, 
appeared  the  special  tabernacle  choristers  with 
large  fluttering  badges  of  royal  purple.     They 
came  on  magnificently,  filling  the  street  from 
curb-line  to  curb-line,  and  the  sound  of  their 
singing  was  as  a  great  wind  gathering.     The 
second  one  on  the  left,  counting  from  the  end, 
in   the  front  row,   was  Ophelia  Stubblefield, 
tawny  and  splendid  as  a  lithesome  tiger-lily. 
She  wore  white  with  long  white  kid  gloves  and 
a  beflowered  hat  which  represented  the  hoarded 
total  of  six  weeks'  wages.     You  would  have 
said  it  was  worth  the  money.    Anybody  would. 
In  the  second  section  rode  the  Rev.  Wickliffe 
and  the  Rev.  Shine;    they  were  in  a  touring- 
car  with  its  top  flattened  back.  You  might  say 
they  composed  the  second  section.    Carriages 
and    automobfles    rolling    along    immediately 
behind  them  bore  the  members  of  the  official 
board  of  Emmanuel  Chapel  in  sets  of  fours, 
and  the  chief  financial  contributors  to  the  re 
vival  which  this  night  would  reach  its  climax. 
Flanking  the  carriages  and  following  after  them 
marched  the  living  garnerings  of  the  campaign 
—the  converts  to  date,  a  veritable  Gideon's 
[378] 


THE    POOR    WHIFFLETIT! 

Band  of  them,  in  number  amounting  to  a  host, 
and  all  afoot  as  befitting  the  palmer  and  the 
pilgrim.  Established  members  of  the  congre 
gation,  in  hired  hacks,  in  jitneys,  in  rented  and 
privately  owned  equipages,  and  also  afoot  came 
next. 

Voluntarily  aligned  representatives  of  the  col 
ored  population  at  large  formed  the  tail  of  the 
column.  Of  these  last  there  surely  were  hun 
dreds.  Hundreds  more,  in  holiday  dress  now 
somewhat  rumpled  after  a  day  of  pleasure- 
seeking  and  pleasure-finding,  lined  the  side 
walks  to  see  this  spectacle.  Nowhere  along 
the  straightaway  of  the  line  of  march  did  the 
pavements  lack  for  onlookers,  but  nearing  the 
end  of  the  route,  and  especially  where  the  wide 
vacant  spaces  of  the  Tennessee  Street  com 
mon  had  been  preempted  by  the  festal  enter 
prises  of __ Director  General  ^Esop  Loving  and 
his  confreres,  the  press  became  thicker  and  ever 
thicker.  Here  the  crowds  overflowed  upon  the 
gravel  roadway,  narrowing  the  thoroughfare  to 
a  lane  through  which  the  paraders  barely  might 
pass.  They  did  pass,  though  at  a  lessened  pace, 
until  their  front  ranks  had  reached  the  approxi 
mate  middle  breadth  of  the  old  show-grounds, 
with  the  tabernacle  looming  against  the  sun 
set's  dying  fires  an  eighth  of  a  mile  on  beyond. 

It  is  necessary  here  and  now  that,  taking  our 
eyes  from  this  scene,  we  hark  back  to  the  Wed 
nesday  evening  preceding.  It  will  be  recalled 
that  on  this  evening  a  certain  motion  was  made 
[379] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


and  by  acclamation  adopted.  The  maker  of 
the  motion,  as  we  know,  was  Tecumseh  Sher 
man  Glass;  its  beneficiary,  as  the  reader 
shrewdly  may  have  divined,  was  Cephus  Fringe. 
Beforehand  perhaps  the  Professor  had  had 
vague  misgivings  as  to  the  part  he  was  to  play 
in  the  pageantry  on  the  Eighth;  perhaps  in 
his  mind  he  had  forecast  the  probability  that 
he  might  suffer  eclipse — a  temporary  eclipse — 
but  to  an  artiste  none  the  less  distasteful — in 
the  shadow  of  the  Sin  Killer,  for  since  the  Sin 
Killer  had  originally  promulgated  the  idea  of 
the  procession  it  was  only  natural  and  only 
human  that  the  Sin  Killer  should  devise  to 
himself  the  outstanding  place  of  honor  in  it. 

Be  these  conjectures  as  they  may  be,  it  is 
not  to  be  gainsaid  that  the  suggestion  embodied 
in  Gump  Glass's  motion  was  to  Prof.  Fringe 
highly  agreeable,  insuring,  as  it  did,  a  fair 
measure  of  prominence  for  him  without  infring 
ing  upon  his  chief's  distinctions.  He  showed 
his  approbation.  I  believe  I  already  have  in 
timated  that  Prof.  Fringe  was  not  exactly  preju 
diced  against  himself.  Any  lingering  aversions 
he  may  have  entertained  in  this  quarter  had 
long  since  been  overcome.  Nevertheless  a  fresh 
doubt,  arising  from  fresh  causes,  assailed  him 
as  the  first  flush  of  satisfaction  abated  within 
him. 

This  new-born  uneasiness  betrayed  itself  in 
his  voice  and  his  manner  when,  at  the  conclu- 
sion  of  the  night's  services,  he  encountered 
[  380] 


ALAS,      THE      POOR     WHIFFLETITI 

Cump  Glass  in  the  middle  aisle.  The  meeting 
was  not  entirely  by  chance;  if  the  truth  is  to 
be  known,  Cump  had  maneuvered  to  bring  it 
about.  The  act  was  his;  a  greater  mind  than 
his,  though,  had  sponsored  the  act.  And  Cump 
Glass,  rightly  interpreting  the  look  upon  Prof. 
Fringe's  large,  plump  face,  guilefully  set  him 
self  to  play  upon  the  emotional  nature  of  the 
other.  With  a  gracious  wave  of  his  hand  he 
checked  the  Professor's  expression  of  thanks. 

"Don't  mention  it,,"  he  said  generously, 
"don't  mention  it.  It  teks  a  purformer  to 
understand  another  purformer's  feelin's.  So  I 
therefo'  teken  it  'pon  myse'f  to  nomernate  you 
fur  the  gran'  marshal  and  also  ez  the  proper 
one  to  sound  the  buglin'  blasts  endurin'  of  the 
turnout.  Seems  lak  somebody  else  would  'a' 
had  the  sense  to  do  so,  but  w'en  they  wuzn't 
nobody  w'ich  did  so,  I  steps  in.  But  right 
soon  afterwards  I  gits  to  stedyin'  'bout  the 
hoss  you'll  be  ridin',  an'  it's  been  worryin'  me 
quite  some  little — the  question  of  the  hoss." 

"I  been  thinkin'^concernin'  of  'at  very  same 
thing,"  confessed  Cephus  Fringe. 

"Is  that  possible?"  exclaimed  Cump  Glass 
with  well-simulated  surprise.  "Well,  sun,  smart 
minds  shorely  runs  in  the  same  grooves,  ez  the 
sayin'  goes.  Yas,  suh,  settin'  yonder  after  I 
made  that  motion,  I  sez  to  myse'f,  I  sez,  '  Glass, 
you  done  started  this  thing  an'  you  must  see  it 
th'ough.  'Twon't  never  do  in  this  world  fur 
the  gran'  marshal  to  be  stuck  up  'pon  the  top 
[381] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 

side  of  a  skittish,  skeery  liver'-stable  boss  that'll 
mebbe  start  cuttin'  up  right  in  the  smack  mid 
dle  of  things  and  distrac'  the  gran5  marshal's 
mind  frum  his  business.'  I  seen  that  happen 
mo'  times  'en  onct,  wid  painful  results.  I 
s'pose,  tho,  you  kin  ride  mighty  nigh  ary  hoss 
they  is,  can't  you,  Purfessor?" 

"Well,  I  could  do  so  onct,"  stated  Cephus  in 
the  manner  of  one  who  formerly  had  followed 
rough-riding  for  a  calling,  "but  leadin'  a  public 
life  fur  so  long,  lak  I  has,  I  ain't  had  much 
time  fur  private  pleasures.  'Sides  w'ich,  ef  I'm 
goin'  sound  the  notes  I'll  be  needin'  both  hands 
free  fur  my  instermint." 

"Puzzactly  the  same  thought  w'ich  came  to 
me,  jes'  lak  I'm  tellin'  it  to  you,"  agreed  Gump. 
"It  teks  a  musician  to  think  of  things  w'ich  an 
ordinary  pusson  wouldn't  never  dream  of.  So, 
fur  the  las'  hour  or  so  I  been  castin'  about  in 
my  mind  an'  jes'  a  minute  ago  the  idee  come  to 
me.  I  feels  shore  I  kin  arrange  wid  a  frien'  of 
mine  to  he'p  us  out.  I  s'pose  you  is  acquainted 
with  this  yere  Jeffy  Poindexter?" 

"I  has  met  him,"  said  Cephus  with  chill 
creeping  into  his  tones.  "An'  I  has  observed 
him  present  yere  the  last  two-three  nights.  But 
I  ain't  aimin'  to  ax  no  favors  frum  him." 

"You  ain't  needin'  to,"  said  Gump.  "I'll 
'tend  to  that  myse'f.  Besides,  Purfessor,  you 
is  sizin'  up  Jeffy  Poindexter  wrong.  He's  went 
an'  'sperienced  a  change  of  heart  in  his  feelin's 
tow'ds  whut's  goin'  on  yere.  Furthermo'" — 
[382]  


ALAS,      THE      POOR      WHIFFLETIT! 

and  here  he  favored  his  flattered  listener  with 
a  confidential  and  a  meaning  wink — "he  got 
sense  'nuff,  Jeffy  has,  to  know  w'en  he's  crowded 
plum  out  of  the  runnin'  by  somebody  w'ich  is 
mo'  swiftly  gaited  'en  whut  he  is,  an'  natchelly 
he  crave  to  stand  in  well  wid  a  winner.  Naw, 
suh,  that  Jeffy,  he'd  be  most  highly  overjoyed 
to  haul  off  an'  lend  a  helpin'  hand,  ef  by  so 
doin'  he  mout  put  you  onder  a  favor  to  him." 

Cephus  sniffed,  half  disarmed  but  wavering. 

"  Wharin'  could  he  he'p  out?  He  ain't  ownin' 
no  private  string  of  ridln'-hosses  so  fur  ez  I've 
took  note  of." 

"The  w'ite  man  he  wuks  fur  is  got  one  an' 
Jeffy  gits  the  borrowin'  use  of  her — it's  a  mare 
— w'enever  he  want  to,  ez  I  knows  frum  whut 
he  tells  me  an'  frum  whut  I  seen.  Purfessor, 
that  mare  is  jes'  natchelly  ordained  an'  cut  out 
fur  peradin' — broad  ez  a  feather-tick,  gentle  ez 
the  onborn  lamb,  an'  mouty  nigh  pyure  white 
— perzactly  the  right  color  fur  a  gran'  marshal's 
hoss.  Crowds  ain't  goin'  pester  that  lady-mare 
none.  Music  ain't  goin'  disturb  her  none  whut- 
soever,  neither." 

"Whut's  her  reg'lar  gait?" 

"Her  reg'lar  gait  is  standin'  still.  But  w'en 
she's  travelin'  at  her  bestest  speed  she  uses  the 
cemetery  walk.  See  that  mare  goin'  pas'  you 
w'en  she's  in  a  hurry  an'  you  say  to  yo'se'f,  you 
say,  'Yere  you  is,  bound  fur  de  buryin'-groun', 
but  how  come  you  got  separated  frum  the 
hearse?'  Purfessor,  that  mare's  entitled  Chris- 
[383  ] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 

tian  name  is  Mittie  May.  Did  you  ever  hear  of 
ary  thing  on  fo'  laigs,  ur  two,  w'ich  answered 
to  the  name  of  Mittie  May  that  wuz  tricky?" 

"Better  be  mouty  sure,"  said  the  cautious 
Cephus,  concerned  for  the  safety  and  dignity 
of  the  creature  which  he  held  most  dear  of  all 
on  this  earth.  "  'Member,  I'll  be  needin'  both 
hands  free — 'twon't  be  no  time  fur  me  to  go 
jerkin'  on  the  reins  w'en  my  saxophone  is  re- 
quirin'  to  be  played." 

"You's  right  there,"  agreed  Cump. 
"Twouldn't  never  do,  neither,  fur  you  to  slip 
off  an'  mebbe  git  yo'se'f  crippled  up.  Whar 
would  this  yere  pertracted  meetin'  be  then? 
Lemme  think.  Ah,  hah!  I  got  it — the  notion 
jes'  come  to  me.  Purfessor,  listen  yere."  He 
placed  his  lips  close  to  the  other's  ear  and  spoke 
perhaps  fifty  words  in  a  confidential  whisper. 
In  token  of  approval  and  acquiescence  the  Pro 
fessor  warmly  clasped  the  right  hand  of  this 
forethoughted  Glass. 

After  such  a  manner  was  Cephus  Fringe,  all 
unwittingly,  thrust  into  the  pit  which  had  been 
digged  for  him. 

At  the  point  where  the  narrative  was  broken 
into  for  the  interpolation  of  the  episode  now  set 
forth,  the  head  of  the  parade,  as  will  be  remem 
bered,  was  just  coming  abreast  of  the  old  show 
grounds.  Now,  the  head  of  the  parade  was 
Cephus  Fringe,  and  none  other.  One  glance 
at  him,  upon  a  white  steed,  all  glorious  in  high 
hat  and  frock  coat  and  with  that  wide  crimson 
[384] 


ALAS,      THE      POOR     WHIFFLETIT! 

sash  dividing  his  torso  in  two  parts,  would  have 
proved  that  to  the  most  ignorant.  As  for  his 
palfrey,  she  ambled  along  as  though  Eighth  of 
August  celebrations  and  a  saxophone  blaring 
between  her  drooping  ears,  and  jubilating  crowds 
and  all  that  singing  behind  her,  and  all  these 
carnival  barkers  shouting  alongside  her,  had 
been  her  daily  portion  since  first  she  was  foaled 
into  the  world.  The  compound  word  lady -like 
would  be  the  word  fittest  to  describe  her. 

Not  twenty  feet  from  her,  close  up  to  where 
the  abutting  common  met  the  straggling  brick 
pavement,  stood  the  battered  Flyin'  Jinny  of 
Gumbo  Rollins.  It  was  nearermost  to  the  street- 
line  of  all  the  attractions  provided  by  JSsop 
Loving  and  his  associates.  Here,  on  the  site 
which  he  had  chosen,  was  Gumbo  Rollins  him 
self,  competently  in  charge.  At  the  precise 
moment  when  Mittie  May  and  her  proud  rider 
had  reached  a  point  just  opposite  him,  Gumbo 
Rollins  elected  to  set  his  device  in  motion  and 
with  it  the  steam-organ  which  was  part  and 
parcel  of  the  thing's  organism.  Really  he  might 
have  waited  a  bit. 

Lured  by  the  prospect  of  beholding  some 
thing  for  nothing,  most  of  his  consistent  pa 
trons  temporarily  had  deserted  him  to  flock  out 
into  the  roadway  and  witness  the  passing  by  of 
the  Sin  Killer's  cohorts.  Two  infatuated  lov 
ers,  country  darkies,  sat  with  arms  entwined  in 
a  rickety  wooden  chariot.  Here  and  there  a 
piccaninny  clung  to  the  back  of  a  spotted 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


wooden  pony  or  a  striped  wooden  zebra.  These, 
for  the  moment,  were  his  only  customers;  never 
theless  Gumbo  Jones  Rollins  swung  a  lever  and 
started  the  machinery.  The  merry-go-round 
moved  with  a  shriek  of  steam;  the  wheezy 
organ  began  spouting  forth  the  introductory 
bars  of  a  rollicking  galop,  a  tune  so  old  that  its 
very  name  had  been  forgotten,  although  the  air  of 
it  lived  anonymously. 

As  though  she  had  been  bee-stung,  Mittie  May 
flung  up  her  head.  She  arched  her  neck  and 
pranced  with  all  four  of  her  feet.  She  spun 
about,  scattering  those  of  the  pedestrian  classes 
who  hemmed  her  so  closely  in.  Unmindful  of  a 
sudden  anxious  command  from  her  rider,  she 
swung  her  foreparts  this  way  and  that.  She 
was  looking  for  it.  It  must  be  directly  here 
abouts  somewhere.  In  those  ancient  days  of 
her  youthful  vagabondage  it  had  always  been 
close  at  hand  when  that  tune — her  own  tune — 
was  played. 

Then  above  the  heads  of  the  crowd  she  saw 
it — a  scuffed  circlet  of  earth  measuring  exactly 
fifty-two  feet  across  and  marking  the  location 
where  the  middle  ring  had  been  builded  when 
Runyon  &  Bulger's  Mighty  United  Railroad 
Shows  pitched  their  tents  on  the  occasion  of 
tlieir  annual  Spring  engagement.  That  had 
been  in  early  May  and  this  was  summer's  third 
month;  the  attrition  of  the  weather  had  worn 
down  the  sharp  edges  of  that  low  turfen  para- 
pet;  by  rights,  too,  there  should  have  been 
[  386  ] 


ALAS,      THE      POOR      WHIFFLETITl 

much  sawdust  and  much  smell  of  the  same  and 
a  center  pole  rising  like  one  lone  blasted  tree 
from  the  exact  middle  of  a  circular  island  of 
this  sawdust;  there  should  have  been  a  ring 
master  and  at  least  two  clowns  and  an  orderly 
clutter  of  paraphernalia.  Nevertheless  there 
before  her  was  the  middle  ring.  And  the  music 
had  started.  And  Mittie  May  answered  the 
cue  which  had  lived  in  her  brain  for  fifteen  long 
years  and  more,  just  as  always  she  answered  it, 
or  sought  to,  when  that  tune  smote  her  ear 
drums. 

The  startled  spectators  gave  backward  and  to 
either  side  in  scrambling  retreat  as  she  lunged 
forward,  cleaving  a  passage  for  herself  to  the 
proper  spot  of  entrance.  She  whisked  in. 
Around  the  ring  she  sped,  her  hoofs  drumming 
against  the  flanks  of  the  ring-back,  her  barrel 
slanting  far  over  in  obedience  to  the  laws  of 
centripetal  force,  her  tail  rippling  out  behind  her 
like  a  homebound  pennon  in  a  fair  breeze  — 
around  and  around  and  yet  again  and  then  some 
more. 

To  be  sure  there  were  irregularities  in  the 
procedure.  Upon  her  back,  springily  erect, 
there  should  have  been  a  jaunty  equestrian 
swinging  a  gay  pink  leg  in  air  and  anon  uttering 
the  traditional  Hoop-la.  Instead  there  was  a 
heavy  bulk  which  embraced  her  neck  with  two 
strong  arms,  which  wallowed  about  on  her  spinal 
column,  which  continually  cried  out  entreaties, 
threats,  commands,  even  profanities.  Yet  with 
[387] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


Mittie  May,  as  with  most  of  us,  habit  was 
stronger  than  all  else.  She  knew  her  duty  as  of 
old  She  did  it.  Accommodating  her  gait  to  the 
quickening  measures  of  the  music,  she  stretched 
her  legs,  passing  out  of  a  rolling  gallop  into  a 
hard  run.  Yet  one  more  thing,  or  rather  the 
lack  of  it,  perplexed  her.  Attendants  should  be 
bringing  forth  knockdown  fence-panels  for  her 
to  leap  over  and  hoops  of  paper  for  her  rider  to 
leap  through.  Never  mind;  out  of  her  imagi 
nation  she  would  supply  these  missing  details 
when  the  proper  moment  came.  She'd  hurdle 
the  hurdles  which  weren't  there.  Meanwhile 
she  knew  what  to  do — around  and  around  and 
around,  right  willingly,  right  blithely  went  Mit 
tie  May. 

And,  with  her,  around  and  around  went  also 
Prof.  Cephus  Fringe,  but  not  willingly  and  by 
no  means  blithely.  He  shed  his  high  hat  and 
with  it  all  lingering  essences  of  his  dignity.  One 
of  Mittie  May's  feet  squashed  down  on  the  high 
hat  and  it  folded  up  like  a  condensed  time-card. 
He  lost  the  last  vestige  of  his  vanishing  author 
ity  when  he  lost  his  saxophone.  The  Professor 
did  not  understate  the  case  when  he  had  inti 
mated  that  he  was  somewhat  out  of  practice  at 
equestrian  exercises.  Stark  terror  convulsed  his 
frame;  instinct  of  self-preservation  made  him 
careless  of  the  language  he  used.  Indeed,  a  good 
deal  of  the  language  he  used  was  bounced  right 
out  of  him. 

Haply  perhaps  for  him — and  surely  nothing 
[  388  ]  ~ 


ALAS,      THE      POOR      WHIFFLETIT!' 

else  that  happened  was  for  him  haply  circum 
stanced — most  of  the  naughty  words  reached 
no  ears  save  those  of  Mittie  May.  There  were 
sounds  which  drowned  them — sounds  which 
began  with  a  fluttered  outcry  of  alarm,  which 
progressed  to  a  great  gasp  of  astonishment, 
which  swelled  and  rippled  into  a  titter,  which 
grew  into  a  vast  rocking  roar  of  unrestrained 
joyousness.  Children  shrieked,  old  women 
cackled,  old  men  wheezed,  adults  guffawed, 
strong  men  rolled  upon  the  earth  in  uncontroll 
able  outbursts  of  thunderous  mirth.  As  though 
stricken  in  all  his  members,  Gumbo  Rollins 
fell  alongside  his  whirling  Fly  in'  Jinny,  but 
failed  not,  even  in  that  excess  of  his  mounting 
hysteria,  to  see  to  it  that  the  steam-driven 
organ  continued  to  grind  out  the  one  tune 
of  its  repertoire.  The  members  of  the  choir 
forgot  that  their  mission  was  to  sing.  They 
were  too  busy  laughing  to  sing.  And  high 
and  clear  above  the  chorus  of  their  glad  outcry 
rose  the  soprano  gurglings  of  Ophelia  Stubble- 
field  as  she  leaned  for  support  up  against 
somebody. 

You  ask,  Why  did  not  Prof.  Cephus  Fringe 
fall  off  of  Mittie  May?  He  tried  to.  At  first 
he  sought  only  to  stay  on;  then  after  a  bit  he 
sought  to  get  off;  he  couldn't.  The  cause  for 
his  staying  on  was  revealed  when  Mittie  May 
took  the  first  of  those  mental  hazards  of  hers.  As 
she  rose  grandly  into  space  to  clear  the  imagined 
top-rail  of  the  imagined  panel  and  with  hind 
[  389  ] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


heels  drawn  well  in  under  her,  descended  and 
continued  on  her  circling  way,  a  keen-eyed 
spectator,  all  bent  double  though  he  was,  along 
side  the  ring,  and  beating  himself  in  the  short 
ribs,  caught  a  flashing  glimpse  of  a  strong  but 
narrow  strap  which  bound  the  rider's  ankles  to 
the  saddle-girth  and  which,  through  the  ordered 
march  of  the  parade,  had  been  safely  hidden 
from  view  behind  the  ornament  housings  of  the 
broad  Spanish  stirrups.  Cump  Glass  had  done 
his  fiendish  work  well;  those  straps  strained, 
but  they  held. 

"Name  of  Glory!"  shouted  out  the  observer. 
"He  done  tie  hisse'f  on!  He  done  tie  hisse'f — " 
Overcome  he  choked. 

With  a  great  sweeping,  swooping  heave  Mittie 
May  made  the  last  leap.  And  then  at  the  precise 
second  when  the  music  stopped,  the  leathern 
thongs  parted,  and  as  the  burden  on  her  tum 
bled  off  and  lay  struggling  in  the  dust,  Mittie 
May  swerved  from  the  ring  and,  magically  and 
instantaneously  becoming  once  more  Judge 
Priest's  staidly  respectable  old  buggy-mare, 
stood  waiting  for  Jeff  Poindexter  to  come  and 
lead  her  out  of  all  this  shrieking,  whooping  jam 
of  folks  back  to  her  stable.  And  Jeff  came. 
He  had  been  there  all  the  time.  It  was  against 
his  supporting  frame  that  Ophelia  had  slanted 
limply  the  while  she  laughed. 

Here  the  curtain  is  lowered  for  two  seconds  to 
denote  the  passage  of  two  days.  At  its  rise  Jeff 
Poindexter  and  Gumbo  Rollins  are  discovered 
[390] 


ALAS,      THE      POOR      WHIFFLETITl 

sitting  side  by  side  on  the  back  step  of  a  cabin 
in  the  Plunket's  Hill  neighborhood. 

"An'  so  they  ain't  nobody  seen  him  sence?" 
It  is  Jeff  who  is  speaking. 

"So  they  tells  me, "  answers  Gumbo.  "Ain't 
nary  soul  seen  hair  nur  hide  of  him  frum  the 
moment  he  riz  out  'en  that  ring  an'  tuk  his  foot 
in  his  hand  an'  marviled  further.  Yas,  suh,  the 
pertracted  meetin'  will  have  to  worry  'long  the 
best  way  it  kin  'thout  its  champion  purty  man. 
Well,  sometimes  it  seems  lak  these  things  turns 
out  fur  the  bes'.  It  suttin'ly  would  damage  his 
lacinated  feelin's  still  mo'  ef  he  wus  yere  an' 
beared  folks  all  over  town  callin'him  the  Jazzed- 
up  Circus  Rider. " 

"I  got  a  better  name  fur  him  'en  that,"  says 
Jeff,  "Whiffletit." 

"W'ich?"  asks  Gumbo. 

Seemingly  Jeff  has  not  heard  his  friend's  ques 
tion.  In  an  undertone,  and  as  though  seeking  to 
recall  the  words  of  a  given  formula,  he  communes 
with  himself,  "Fust  you  baits  him  wid  the 
cheese.  An'  'en  w'en  he  nibble  the  cheese,  he  git 
all  swelled  up  an'  'en  whilst  he's  flappin'  help 
less  you  leans  over  the  side  of  the  boat  an  jes' 
natchelly  laffs  him  to  death." 

"Whut-all  is  you  mumblin'?"  demands  Gum 
bo  Rollins,  puzzled  by  these  seemingly  unrelated 
and  irrelevant  mouthings.  "Is  you  crazy?" 

"Yas,"  concurs  Jeff,  "crazy  lak  the  king  of 
the  weazels." 

[391] 


CHAPTER  IX 
PLENTIFUL   VALLEY 


SO    this  here  head  brakeman,    the   same 
being  a  large,  coarse,  hairy,  rectangular 
person   with  a  square-toed   jaw  and  a 
square- jawed  toe,  he  up  and  boots  the 
two  of  us  right  off  this  here  freight  train." 

My  old  and  revered  friend,  Scandalous  Doo- 
lan,  is  much  addicted  to  opening  a  narrative 
smack  down  the  middle,  as  though  it  were  an 
oyster,  and  then,  by  degrees,  working  both 
ways — toward  the  start  and  the  finish.  So  it 
did  not  greatly  surprise  me  that  without  pref 
ace,  dedication,  index  or  chapter-heading,  he 
should  suddenly  introduce  a  head  brakeman 
and  a  freight  train  into  a  conversation  which 
until  that  moment  had  dealt  with  topics  not  in 
the  least  akin  to  these.  Indeed,  knowing  him 
as  I  did,  it  seemed  to  me  all  the  better  reason 
why  I  should  promptly  incline  the  greedy  ear, 
for  over  and  above  his  eccentricities  in  the  mat 
ter  of  launching  a  subject,  Mr.  Doolan  is  the 
only  member  of  his  calling  I  ever  saw  who 
[392] 


PLENTIFUL      VALLEY 

talks  in  real  life  as  all  the  members  of  his  call 
ing  are  fondly  presumed  to  talk,  in  story-books 
and  on  the  stage. 

I  harkened,  therefore,  saying  nothing,  and 
sure  enough,  having  dealt  for  a  brief  passage 
of  time  with  the  incident  of  a  certain  enforced 
departure  from  a  certain  as  yet  unnamed  com 
mon  carrier,  he  presently  retraced  his  verbal 
footsteps  and  began  at  the  beginning. 

I  quote  in  full : 

"Yes,  sir,  that's  what  he  does.  Refusing  to 
listen  to  reason,  this  here  head  brakeman,  which 
anybody  could  tell  just  by  looking  at  him  that 
he  didn't  have  no  heart  a-tall  and  no  soul,  so 
as  you  could  notice  it,  he  just  red  lights  us  off 
into  the  peaceful  and  sun-lit  bosom  of  the  rooral 
New  York  State  landscape.  But  before  reach 
ing  the  landscape  it  becomes  necessary  for  us 
to  slide  down  a  grade  of  a  perpendicular  char 
acter,  and  in  passing  I  am  much  pleased  to 
note  that  the  right-of-way  is  self-trimmed  to 
match  the  prevalent  style  of  scenery,  with 
maybe  a  few  cinders  interspersed  for  decora 
tions.  There  is  one  class  of  travelers  which 
prefers  a  road-bed  rock-ballasted,  and  these  is 
those  which  goes  on  trains  from  place  to  place. 
There's  another  kind  which  likes  a  road-bed  done 
in  the  matched  or  natural  materials,  and  them's 
the  kind  which  goes  off  trains  from  time  to  time. 
And  us  two,  being  for  the  moment  in  this  class, 
we  are  much  gratified  by  the  circumstance. 
[393] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


"And  we  sits  up  and  dusts  ourselves  off  in  a 
nonchalant  manner  while  the  little  old  choo- 
choo  continues  upon  her  way  to  Utica,  Syra 
cuse,  and  all  points  west,  leaving  me  and  the 
Sweet  Caps  Kid  with  all  the  bright  world  before 
us,  and  nothing  behind  us  but  the  police  force. 

"For  some  months  previous  to  this,  me  and 
the  Sweet  Caps  Kid  has  been  sojourning  in 
that  favored  metropolis  which  is  bounded  on 
one  side  by  a  loud  Sound  and  on  the  other  by 
a  steep  Bluff,  and  is  doing  her  constant  best  at 
all  times  to  live  up  to  the  surroundings.  Need 
less  to  say,  I  refer  to  little  Noo  Yawk,  the  orig 
inal  haunt  of  the  come-on  and  the  native  habi 
tat  of  the  sure  thing,  where  the  jays  bite  freely 
and  the  woods  are  full  of  fish.  We  have  been 
doing  very  well  there — very,  very  well,  consid 
ering.  What  with  working  the  nuts  on  the  side 
streets  right  off  Broadway  and  playing  a  little 
three-card  monte  down  round  Coney  in  the 
cool  of  the  evening  and  once  in  a  while  selling 
a  sturdy  husbandman  from  over  Jersey  way  a 
couple  of  admission  tickets  to  Central  Park, 
we  have  found  no  cause  to  complain  at  the 
business  depression.  It  sure  looks  to  us  like 
confidence  has  been  restored  and  any  time  she 
seems  a  little  backward  we  take  steps  to  re 
store  her  some  ourselves.  But  all  of  a  sudden, 
something  seems  to  tell  me  that  we  oughter  be 
moving. 

"You  know  how  them  mysterious  premoni- 
tions  comes  to  a  feller.  A  little  bird  whispers 


PLENTIFUL     VALLEY 

to  you,  or  you  have  a  dream,  or  else  you  walk 
into  the  mitt-joint  and  hand  a  he-note  to  a 
dark  complected  lady  wearing  a  red  kimono 
and  a  brown  mustache,  and  she  takes  a  flash 
at  your  palm  and  seems  to  see  a  dark  man 
coming  with  a  warrant,  followed  by  a  trip  up 
a  great  river  to  a  large  stone  building  like  a 
castle.  Or  else  Headquarters  issues  a  general 
alarm,  giving  names,  dates,  personal  descrip 
tion,  size  of  reward  and  place  where  last  seen. 
This  time  it's  a  general  alarm.  From  what  I 
could  gather,  a  downcasted  Issy  Wisenheimer 
has  been  up  to  the  front  parlor  beefing  about 
his  vanishing  bankroll  and  his  disappearing 
breast-pin.  You  wouldn't  think  a  self-respect 
ing  citizen  of  a  great  Republic  like  this'n  would 
carry  on  so  over  thirty -eight  dollars  in  currency 
and  a  diamond  so  yeller  it  woulda  been  a  topaz 
if  it  had  been  any  yellower.  But  such  was  in 
deed  the  case.  I  gleans  a  little  valuable  infor 
mation  from  a  friendly  barkeeper  who's  got  a 
brother-in-law  at  the  Central  Office,  and  so  is 
in  position  to  get  hold  of  much  interesting  and 
timely  chit-chat  before  it  becomes  common  gos 
sip  throughout  the  neighborhood.  So  then  I 
takes  the  Sweet  Caps  Kid  off  to  one  side  and  I 
says  to  him,  I  says: 

"'Kiddo,'  I  says,  *  listen:  I've  got  a  strong 
presentiment  that  we  should  oughter  be  going 
completely  away  from  here.  If  we  don't,  the 
first  thing  you  know  some  plain-clothes  bull 
with  fallen  arches  and  his  neck  shaved  'way  up 
[395] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


high  in  the  back  will  be  coming  round  asking 
us  to  go  riding  with  him  down  town  into  the 
congested  district,  and  if  we  declines  the  invi 
tation,  like  as  not  he'll  muss  our  clothes  all  up. 
Do  you  seem  to  get  my  general  drift?'  I  says. 

'"Huh,5  he  says,  'you  talk  as  if  there'd  been 
a  squeal.' 

"'Squeal?'  I  says.  'Squeal?  Son,  you  can 
take  it  from  me  there's  been  a  regular  season 
of  grand  opera.  You  and  me  are  about  to  be 
accused  of  pernicious  activity.  What's  more, 
they're  liable  to  prove  it.  There's  a  movement 
on  foot  in  influential  quarters  to  provide  us 
with  board  and  lodgings  at  a  place  which  I  will 
not  name  to  you  in  so  many  words  on  account 
of  your  weak  heart.  The  work  there,'  I  says, 
*is  regular,  and  the  meals  is  served  on  time, 
and  you're  protected  from  the  damp  night  air; 
but,'  I  says,  'the  hours  is  too  long  and  too  con 
fining  to  suit  me.'  I've  knowed  probably  a 
thousand  fellers  in  my  time  that  sojourned  up 
at  Bird  Center-on-the-Hudson  anywhere  from 
one  to  fifteen  years  on  a  stretch,  and  I  never 
seen  one  of  them  yet  but  had  some  fault  to 
find  with  the  place. 

"Whereas,  on  the  other  hand,'  I  says,  'all 
nature  seems  to  beckon  to  us.  Let's  you  and 
me  steal  forth  under  the  billowy  blue  caliber  of 
Heaven  and  make  hay  while  the  haymakers 
are  good.  Let  us  quit  the  city  with  its  tempta 
tions  and  its  snares  and  its  pitfalls,  'specially 
the  last  named,'  I  says,  'and  in  some  peaceful 
[396] 


PLENTIFUL     VALLEY 

spot  far,  far  away,  let  us  teach  Uncle  Joshua 
Whitcomb  that  the  hand  is  quicker  than  the 
eye,  him  paying  cash  down  in  advance  for  the 
lessons.  Tubby  sure,  the  pickings  has  been 
excellent  here  in  the  shadow  of  the  skyscrap 
ers,  and  it'll  probably  be  harder  sledding  out 
amongst  the  disk  -  harrow  boys.  Everybody 
reads  the  papers  these  days,  only  the  Rube  be 
lieves  what  he  reads  and  the  city  guy  don't, 
a  hate  to  go,  but  I  ain't  comfortable  where  I 
Im.  When  my  scalp  begins  to  itch  like  it  does 
now  that's  a  sign  of  a  close  hair-cut  coming  on. 
I've  got  educated  dandruff,'  I  says,  'and  it 
ain't  never  fooled  me  yet.  In  short,'  I  says, 
'I've  been  handed  the  office  to  skiddoo,  and  in 
such  cases  I  believe  in  skiddooing.  Let  us  cre 
ate  a  vacancy  in  these  parts  sine  quinine — 
which,'  I  says,  'is  Latin,  meaning  it's  a  bitter 
dose  but  you  gotta  take  it.' 

'"I  can  start  right  this  minute,'  says  Sweet 
Caps;  'my  tooth-brush  is  packed  and  all  I've 
got  to  do  is  to  put  on  my  hat.  S'pose  we  run 
up  to  a  Hundred  and  Twenty-fifth  Street,  which 
is  a  nice  secluded  spot,'  he  says,  'and  catch  the 
rattler.' 

'"How  are  you  fixed  for  currency?'  I  says. 

"'Fixed? 'he  says.  'I  ain't  fixed  a-tall.  A'int 
you  been  carrying  the  firm's  bank-roll?  Say, 
ain't  you?' 

"Well,  right  there  I  has  to  break  the  sad 
news  to  him.  I  does  it  as  gentle  as  I  could  but 
still  he  seems  peeved.  Money  has  caused  a  lot 
[397] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


of  suffering  in  this  world,  they  tell  me,  but  I'm 
here  to  tell  you  the  lack  of  it's  been  responsible 
for  consider'ble  many  heartburnings  too.  Up 
until  that  minute  I  hadn't  had  the  heart  to 
tell  the  Sweet  Caps  Kid  that  our  little  joint 
partnership  bank-roll  is  no  longer  with 
us.  I'd  been  saving  back  them  tidings  for  a 
more  suitable  moment,  but  now  I  has  to  tell 
him. 

"It  seems  that  the  night  before,  I  had  been 
tiger  hunting  in  the  jungle  down  at  Honest 
John  Donohue's.  Of  course  I  should  have 
knowed  better  than  to  go  up  against  a  game 
run  by  anybody  calling  hisself  Honest  John. 
Them  complimentary  monakers  always  work 
with  the  reverse  English.  You  are  walking 
along  and  you  see  a  gin-mill  across  the  street 
with  a  sign  over  the  door  which  says  it's  Smil 
ing  Pete's  Place,  and  you  cross  over  and  look 
in,  and  behind  the  bar  is  an  old  guy  who  ain't 
heard  anything  that  really  pleased  him  since 
the  Martinique  disaster.  He's  standing  there 
with  his  lip  stuck  out  like  a  fender  on  a  street 
car,  and  a  bung  starter  handy,  just  hoping  that 
somebody  will  come  in  and  start  to  start  some 
thing.  That's  Smiling  Pete.  As  for  this  here 
Donohue,  he's  so  crooked  he  can't  eat  nothing 
such  as  stick  candy  and  cheese  straws  without 
he  gets  cramps  in  his  stomach.  He'd  take  the 
numbers  off  your  house.  That's  why  they  call 
him  Honest  John.  I  know  all  this,  good  and 
well,  but  what's  a  feller  going  to  do  when  his  is 
[398] 


PLENTIFUL     VALLEY 

the  only  place  in  town  that's  open?  You've 
got  to  play  somewheres,  ain't  you?  Somehow, 
I  always  was  sort  of  drawed  to  faro. 

"Well,  you  know  the  saying — one  man's  meat 
is  another's  pizen.  He  was  my  pizen  and  I  cer 
tainly  was  his  meat.  So  now,  I  ain't  got  noth 
ing  in  my  pockets  except  the  linings. 

"I  tells  the  Sweet  Caps  Kid  just  how  it  was 
— how  right  up  to  the  very  last  minute  I  kept 
expecting  the  luck  to  turn  and  how  even  then 
I  mighta  got  it  all  back  if  the  game-keeper 
hadn't  been  so  blamed  unreasonable  and  mer 
cenary.  When  my  last  chip  is  gone  I  holds  up 
a  finger  for  a  marker  and  tells  him  I'll  take  an 
other  stack  of  fifty,  all  blues  this  time,  but  he 
only  looks  at  me  sort  of  chilly  and  distrustful 
and  remarks  in  a  kind  of  a  bored  way  that 
there's  nothing  doing. 

'"That'll  be  all  right,'  I  says  to  him.  Til 
see  you  to-morrow.' 

'"No,  you  wont,'  he  says,  spiteful-like. 

'"Why,  I  says,  'wont  you  be  here  to-mor 
row?' 

'"Oh,  yes,'  he  says,  'we'll  be  here  to-morrow, 
but  you  wont.' 

"'Is  that  so?'  I  says,  sarcastical.  'Coming 
in,'  I  says,  'I  thought  I  seen  the  word  Welcome 
on  the  doormat.' 

'"Going  out,'  he  says,  'you'll  notice  that, 
spelled  backward,  it's  a  French  word  signify 
ing  Mind  Your  Step.9 

"And  while  I'm  thinking  up  a  proper  come- 
[399] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 

back  for  that  last  remark  of  his'n  somebody 
hands  me  my  hat,  and  in  less'n  a  minute, 
seems-like,  I'm  out  in  the  street  keeping  com 
pany  with  myself. 

"I  tells  all  this  to  the  Sweet  Caps  Kid,  but 
still  he  don't  seem  satisfied  with  my  explana 
tion.  That's  one  drawback  to  the  Kid's  dispo 
sition — he  gets  all  put  out  over  the  least  little 
thing.  So  I  says  to  him:  'Cheer  up,'  I  says, 
'things  ain't  so  worse.  Due  to  my  being  in 
right  with  the  proper  parties  we  gets  this  here 
advance  tip,  and  we  beats  the  barrier  while 
this  here  fat  Central  Office  bull,  who  thinks  he 
wants  us,  is  slipping  his  collar  on  over  his  head 
in  the  morning.  Remember,'  I  says,  'we  are 
going  to  the  high  grass  where  the  little  birdies 
sing  and  the  flowers  bloom.  Providence,'  I 
says,  'has  an  eye  on  every  sparrow  that  falls, 
but  nothing  is  said  about  the  jays,'  I  says, 
'  and  we'll  see  if  a  few  of  them  wont  fall  for  our 
little  cute  tricks.' 

"Tubby  sure,  I'm  speaking  figurative.  I 
aint  really  aiming  for  the  deep  woods  proper. 
Only  I've  been  in  Noo  Yawk  long  enough  to 
git  the  Noo  Yawk  habit  of  thinking  everybody 
beyond  Rahway,  New  Jersey,  is  the  Far  West. 
I'm  really  figuring  to  land  in  one  of  them  small 
junction  points,  such  as  Cleveland  or  Pitts 
burgh.  And  we  would  too,  if  it  hadn'ta  been 
for  that  there  head  brakeman. 

"Anyway,  we  moons  round  in  a  kind  of  an 
unostentatious  way,  with  the  Kid  still  acting 
[  400  ] 


PLENTIFUL     VALLEY 


peevish  and  low  in  his  mind,  and  me  saying 
little  things  every  now  and  then  to  chirk  him 
up,  until  the  shank  of  the  evening  arrives  'long 
about  two  A.M.  Then  we  slips  over  into  the 
yards  below  Riverside  Drive,  taking  due  care 
not  to  wake  up  no  sleeping  policeman  on  the 
way.  There  we  presently  observes  a  freight 
train,  which  is  giving  signs  of  getting  ready  to 
make  up  its  mind  to  go  somewheres. 

"A  freight  train  is  like  a  woman.  When  you 
see  a  woman  coming  out  of  the  front  door  and 
running  back  seven  or  eight  times  to  get  some 
thing  she's  forgot,  you  know  that  woman  is 
on  her  way.  And  it's  the  same  with  freights; 
that's  why  they  call  'em  shes' .  Pretty  soon 
this  here  freight  quits  vacilliating  back  and 
forth,  and  comes  sliding  down  past  where  we're 
waiting. 

'"Here  comes  a  side-door  Pullman,  with  the 
side  door  open,'  I  says.  *  Let's  get  on  and  book 
a  couple  of  lowers.' 

4 "How  do  you  know  where  she's  going?' 
says  the  Kid,  him  being  greatly  addicted  to 
idle  questions. 

'"I  don't,'  I  says;  'the  point  is  that  she's 
going.  To-night  she  will  be  here  but  to-mor 
row  she  will  be  extensively  elsewhere;  and  so,' 
I  says,  'will  we.  Let  us  therefore  depart  from 
these  parts  while  the  departing  is  good,'  I  says. 

"Which  we  done  so,  just  like  I'm  telling  you. 
And  for  some  hours  we  trundles  along  very 
snug  and  comfortable,  both  of  us  being  en- 
[401] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


grossed  in  sleep.  When  we  wakes  up  it's  an 
other  day,  and  the  wicked  city  is  far,  far  be 
hind  us,  and  we  are  running  through  a  district 
which  is  entirely  surrounded  by  scenery.  If  it 
hadn'ta  been  that  something  keeps  reminding 
me  I  ai'nt  had  no  breakfast  I  coulda  been  just 
as  happy. 

'"Where'll  we  git  off?'  says  Sweet  Caps,  set 
ting  up  and  rubbing  his  eyes. 

"'Well,'  I  says,  'we  takes  our  choice.  Maybe 
Albany,'  I  says.  'The  legislature  is  in  special 
session  there,  and  a  couple  of  grafters  more  or 
less  wont  make  no  material  difference — they'll 
probably  take  us  for  members.  Maybe  Roches 
ter,'  I  says,  'which  is  a  pleasant  city,  full  of 
large  and  thriving  industries.  Maybe,'  I  says, 
'if  this  here  train  don't  take  a  notion  to  climb 
down  off  the  track  and  go  berry -picking,  maybe 
Chicago.  Of  course,'  I  says,  'Chi  ain't  quite  so 
polished  as  Noo  Yawk.  Chi  has  been  called 
crude  by  some.  When  I  think  of  Noo  Yawk,' 
I  says,  'I  think  of  a  peroxide  chorus  lady  going 
home  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  in  two 
taxicabs,  but  when  I  think  of  Chicago  I'm  re 
minded  of  a  soused  hired  girl,  with  red  hair,  on 
a  rampage.  But,'  I  says,  'what's  the  differ 
ence?  Everywhere  you  go,'  I  says,  'there's  al 
ways  human  life,  and  Chicago  is  reputed  to  be 
quite  full  of  population  and  very  probably  we 
can  find  a  few  warm-hearted  persons  there  who 
are  more  or  less  addicted  to  taking  a  chance.' 

"But  you  know  how  it  is  in  these  matters — 
[402  ] 


PLENTIFUL     VALLEY 

you  never  can  tell.  Just  as  I'm  concluding  my 
remarks  touching  on  our  two  largest  cities,  this 
here  brakeman  comes  snooping  along  and  inti 
mates  that  we  better  be  thinking  about  getting 
off.  He's  probably  the  biggest  brakeman  liv 
ing.  If  he  was  any  bigger  than  what  he  is, 
he'd  be  twins.  We  endeavors  to  argue  him  out 
of  the  notion  but  it  seems  like  he's  sort  of  set 
in  his  mind.  Besides,  being  so  much  larger 
than  either  one  of  us  or  both  of  us  put  to 
gether,  for  that  matter,  he  has  the  advantage 
in  repartee.  So  he  makes  an  issue  of  it  and  we 
sees  our  way  clear  to  getting  off  without  wait 
ing  for  the  locomotive  to  slow  up  or  anything. 
After  our  departure,  the  train  continues  on  its 
way  thither,  we  remaining  hither. 

'"My  young  friend,'  I  says  when  the  dust 
has  settled  down,  '  the  question  which  you  pro 
pounded  about  five  minutes  ago  is  now  an 
swered  in  the  affirmative.  This  is  where  we 
get  off — right  here  on  this  identical  spot.  I 
don't  know  the  name  of  the  place,'  I  says; 
'maybe  it's  so  far  out  in  the  suburbs  that  they 
ain't  found  time  to  get  round  to  it  yet  and  give 
it  a  name;  but,'  I  says,  *  there's  one  consola 
tion.  By  glancing  first  up  this  way  and  then 
down  that  way  you  will  observe  that  from  here 
to  the  point  where  the  rails  meet  down  yonder 
is  exactly  the  same  distance  that  it  is  from 
here  to  where  the  rails  meet  up  yonderways — 
proving,'  I  says,  'that  we  are  in  the  exact  cen 
ter  of  the  country.  So  let  us  be  up  and  doing,' 
__ 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 

I  says,  'specially  doing.  But  the  first  con 
sideration/  I  say,  'is  vittles.' 

"You  know  me  well  enough  to  know,"  inter 
jected  Mr.  Doolan,  interrupting  the  thread  of 
his  narrative  for  a  moment  and  turning  to  me 
with  a  wave  of  his  stout  arm,  "that  I  ain't  no 
glutton.  I  can  eat  my  grub  when  it's  set  be 
fore  me  or  I  can  let  it  alone,  only  I  never  do. 
I  never  begin  to  think  about  the  next  meal  till 
I'm  almost  through  with  the  last  one.  And 
right  now  my  mind  seems  to  dwell  on  break 
fast. 

"Well,  anyway  we  arises  up  and  goes  away 
from  there,  walking  in  a  general  direction,  and 
before  long  we  comes  to  a  sign  which  says  we 
are  now  approaching  the  incorporated  village 
of  Plentiful  Valley — Autos  Reduce  Speed  to 
Eight  Miles  an  Hour — No  Tramps  Allowed.  I 
kind  of  favors  the  sound  of  that  name — Plenti 
ful  Valley.  And  as  I  remarks  to  the  Sweet 
Caps  Kid,  'We  ain't  no  autos  and  we  ain't  no 
tramps  but  merely  two  professional  men,  look 
ing  for  a  chance  to  practise  our  profession.' 

"This  here  is  the  first  valley  I  ever  see  in  the 
course  of  a  long  and  more  or  less  polka-dotted 
career  that  it  is  all  up-hill  and  never  no  down 
hill.  Be  that  as  it  may,  we  rambles  on  until  it 
must  be  going  on  towards  nine  forty-five  o'clock, 
and  comes  to  a  neat  bungalow  on  a  green  slope 
inside  of  a  high  white  fence.  There's  a  vener 
able  party  setting  on  the  front  porch,  in  his 
shirt-sleeves.  He  looks  beneficent  and  well  fed. 
[  404  ] 


PLENTIFUL     VALLEY 

'"Pull  down  your  vest,  son-boy/  I  says  to 
Sweet  Caps,  *  and  please  remember  not  to  drink 
your  coffee  out  of  the  sasser.  I  have  a  grow 
ing  conviction/  I  says,  'that  we  are  about  to 
partake  of  refreshment.' 

'"Hadn't  we  better  sell  this  ancient  guy  a 
few  Bermuda  oats,  or  something  to  start  off 
with?'  says  he. 

"'Not  until  after  we  have  et,'  I  says;  'busi 
ness  before  pleasure.  And  anyway,'  I  says,  'I 
works  best  on  a  full  stomach.  Follow  your 
dear  uncle,'  I  says,  'and  don't  do  nothing  till 
you  hear  from  me.' 

"With  that  I  opens  the  gate  and  we  mean 
ders  up  a  neat  gravel  path.  As  we  draws  near, 
the  venerable  party  takes  his  feet  down  off  the 
railings. 

'"Come  in,'  he  says  cordially,  'come  right  in 
and  rest  your  face  and  hands.  You're  out  nice 
and  early.' 

'"Suffer  us,'  I  says,  'to  introduce  ourselves. 
We  are  a  couple  of  prominent  tourist-pedes 
trians  walking  from  Noo  Yawk  to  Portland, 
Oregon,  on  a  bet.  This,'  I  says,  pointing  to 
Sweet  Caps,  'is  Young  Twinkletoes,  and  I  am 
commonly  knowed  as  old  King  Lightfoot  the 
First.  By  an  unfortunate  coincidence,'  I  says, 
'we  got  separated  at  an  early  hour  from  our 
provision  wagon,  as  a  result  of  which  we  have 
omitted  breakfast  and  feel  the  omission  se 
verely.  If  we  might  impose,'  I  says,  'upon 

your  good  nature  to  the  extent  of — ' 

[405] 


SUNDRY      ACCOUNTS 


"'Don't  mention  it,'  he  says;  'take  two  or 
three  chairs  and  set  down,  and  we'll  talk  it 
over.  To  tell  you  the  truth,'  he  says,  'I  was 
jest  setting  here  wishing  somebody  would  come 
along  and  visit  with  me  a  spell.  I'm  keeping 
bachelor's  hall,'  he  says,  'and  raising  chickens 
on  the  side,  and  sometimes  I  get  a  mite  lonely. 
I  guess  maybe  the  Chink  might  scare  up  some 
thing,  although,'  he  says,  'to  tell  you  the  truth 
there  ain't  hardly  a  bite  in  the  house,  except  a 
couple  of  milk-fed  broilers  and  some  fresh  to- 
mattuses  right  out  of  the  garden  and  a  few  hot 
biscuits  and  possibly  some  razzberries  with 
cream;  for  I'm  a  simple  feeder,'  he  says,  'and 
a  very  little  satisfies  me.' 

"He  pokes  his  head  inside  the  door  and  yells 
to  a  Jap  to  put  two  more  places  at  the  table. 
So  we  reclines  and  indulges  in  edifying  conver 
sation  upon  the  current  topics  of  the  day  and, 
very  shortly,  nourishing  smells  begin  for  to  per 
colate  forth  from  within,  causing  me  to  water 
at  the  mouth  until  I  has  all  the  outward  symp 
toms  of  being  an  ebb-tide.  But  this  here  per 
nicious  Sweet  Caps  Kid,  he  can't  let  well  enough 
alone.  Observing  copious  signs  of  affluence 
upon  every  side  he  gets  ambitious  and  would 
abuse  the  sacred  right  of  hospitality  about  half 
to  three-quarters  of  an  hour  too  soon.  Out  of 
the  tail  of  my  eye  I  sees  him  reaching  in  his 
pocket  for  the  educated  pasteboards  and  I  gives 
him  the  high  sign  to  soft  pedal,  but  he  don't 
mind  me.  Out  he  comes  with  'em. 


PLENTIFUL     VALLEY 

{"A  little  harmless  game  of  cards,'  he  says, 
addressing  the  elderly  guy,  'entitled,'  he  says, 
*  California  euchre.  I  have  here,  you  will  ob 
serve,  two  jacks  and  an  ace — the  noble  ace  of 
spades.  I  riffle  and  shuffle  and  drop  'em  in  a 
row,  the  trick  being  to  pick  out  the  ace.  Now, 
then,'  goes  on  this  besetted  Sweet  Caps,  with  a 
winning  smile,  'just  to  while  away  the  time  be 
fore  breakfast,  s'pose  you  make  a  small  bet 
with  me  regarding  the  present  whereabouts  of 
said  ace.' 

"The  party  with  the  whiskers  gets  up;  and 
now,  when  he  speaks  I  sees  that  in  spite  of  him 
wearing  a  brush  arbor,  he  aint  no  real  rube. 

'"To  think,'  he  says,  more  in  sorrow  than  in 
anger,  'to  think  that  I  should  live  to  see  this 
day!  To  think  that  me,  who  helped  Canady 
Bill  sell  the  first  gold  brick  that  ever  was 
molded  in  this  country,  should  in  my  declining 
years  have  a  couple  of  wooden-fingered  ama- 
toors  come  along  and  try  to  slip  me  the  oldest 
graft  in  the  known  world!  It  is  too  much,'  he 
says,  'it  is  too  much  too  much.  You  lower  a 
noble  pursuit,'  he  says,  'and  I  must  respect 
fully  but  firmly  request  you  to  be  on  your  way. 
I'll  try  to  forgive  you,'  he  says,  'but  at  this 
moment  your  mere  presence  offends  me.  On 
your  way  out,'  he  says,  'kindly  latch  the  gate  be 
hind  you — the  chickens  might  stray  off.  Chick 
ens,'  he  says,  'is  not  exciting  for  steady  com- 
pany,'  he  says,  'but  in  comparison  with  some 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 

humans  I've  met  lately,  chickens  is  absolutely 
gifted  intellectually. 

'" Furthermore,'  he  says,  'I  would  offer  you 
a  word  of  advice,  although  you  don't  really  de 
serve  it.  Beware,'  he  says,  'of  the  constable  in 
the  village  beyond.  You'll  recognize  him  by 
his  whiskers,'  he  says.  'Alongside  of  him,  I 
look  like  an  onion  in  the  face.  Ten  years  ago,' 
he  says,  'that  constable  swore  a  solemn  oath 
not  never  to  shave  until  he'd  locked  up  a  thou 
sand  bums,  and,'  he  says,  'he's  now  on  his  last 
lap.  Keep  moving,'  he  says,  'till  you  feel  like 
stopping,  and  then  don't  stop.' 

Them  edifying  smells  has  made  me  desperate. 
Besides,  not  counting  the  Chink,  who  don't 
count  we  outnumbers  him  two  to  one. 

;  'We  don't  go,'  I  says,  'until  we  gets  a  bite.' 

'"Oh!  I'll  see  that  you  get  a  bite,'  he  says. 
'Sato,'  he  says,  calling  off-stage,  'kindly  un 
chain  Ophelia  and  Ralph  Waldo.  Ophelia,'  he 
says,  turning  to  us,  'is  a  lady  Great  Dane,  stand 
ing  four  feet  high  at  the  shoulder  and  very  mo 
rose  in  disposition.  But  Ralph  Waldo  is  a  cross 
breed  —  part  Boston  bull  and  part  snapping 
turtle.  Sometimes  I  think  they  don't  neither 
one  of  them  care  much  for  strangers.  Here  they 
come  now !  Sick  'em,  pups ! ' 

"Sweet  Caps  starts  first  but  I  beats  him  to  the 
gate  by  half  a  length,  Ophelia  and  Ralph  Waldo 
finishing  third  and  fourth,  respectively.  We 
fades  away  down  the  big  road,  and  the  last  thing 
we  sees  as  we  turns  a  wistful  farewell  look  over 
[408] 


PLENTIFUL     VALLEY 


our  shoulders  is  them  two  man-eaters  raging 
back  and  forth  inside  the  fence  trying  to  gnaw 
down  the  palings,  and  the  old  guy  standing  on  the 
steps  laughing. 

"So  we  pikes  along,  me  frequently  reproach 
ing  Sweet  Caps  for  his  precipitancy  in  spilling 
the  beans.  We  passes  through  the  village  of 
Plentiful  Valley  without  stopping  and  walks  on 
and  on  and  on  some  more,  until  we  observes  a 
large,  prosperous-looking  building  of  red  brick, 
like  a  summer  hotel  with  a  lawn  in  front  and  a 
high  stone  wall  in  front  of  that.  A  large  number 
of  persons  of  both  sexes,  but  mainly  females,  is 
wandering  about  over  the  front  yard  dressed  in 
peculiar  styles.  Leaning  over  the  gates  is  a  thick 
set  man  gazing  with  repugnance  upon  a  lettuce 
leaf  which  he  is  holding  in  his  right  hand .  He  sees 
us  and  his  face  lights  up  some,  but  not  much. 

"'What  ho,  comrades!'  he  says;  'what's  the 
latest  and  newest  in  the  great  world  beyond?' 

"'Mister,'  I  says,  disregarding  these  pleas 
antries,  'how's  the  prospects  for  a  pair  of  foot 
sore  travelers  to  get  a  free  snack  of  vittles  here? ' 

"  'Poor, '  he  says,  'very  poor.  Even  the  pay- 
patients,  one  or  two  of  whom  I  am  which,  don 't 
get  anything  to  eat  to  speak  of.  The  diet  here, ' 
says,  'is  exclusively  vegeterrible.  You  wouldn't 
scarcely  believe  it,'  he  says,  'but  we're  paying 
out  good  money  for  this.  Some  of  us  is  here  to 
get  cured  of  what  the  docters  think  we've  got, 
and  some  of  us  is  here, '  he  says, '  because  as  long 
as  we  stay  here  they  ain't  so  liable  to  lock  us  up  in 
[409] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


a  regular  asylum.  Yes,'  he  says,  pensively, 
'  we ' ve  got  all  kinds  here.  That  lady  yonder, '  he 
says,  pointing  to  a  large  female  who's  dressed  all 
in  white  like  a  week's  washing  and  ain't  got  no 
shoes  on,  *  she's  getting  back  to  nature.  She 
walks  around  in  the  dew  barefooted.  It  takes 
quite  a  lot  of  dew, '  he  says.  'And  that  fat  one 
just  beyond  her  believes  in  reincarnation.' 

"  'You  don't  say!'  I  says. 

"  *  Yes, '  he  says, '  I  do.  She  wont  eat  potatoes 
not  under  no  circumstances,  because  she  thinks 
that  in  her  last  previous  existence  she  was  a 
potato  herself. ' 

"I  takes  a  squint  at  the  lady.  She  has  a  kind 
of  a  round  face  with  two  or  three  chins  that  she 
don 't  actually  need,  and  little  knobby  features. 

"  'Well,'  I  says,  'if  I'm  any  judge,  she  ain't 
entirely  recovered  yet.  Might  I  ask,'  I  says, 
'what  is  your  particular  delusion?  Are  you  a 
striped  cabbage  worm  or  a  pet  white  rabbit?' 

"I  was  thinking  about  that  lettuce  leaf  which 
he  held  in  his  mitt. 

6  'Not  exactly,'  he  says,  'I  was  such  a  good 
liver  that  I  developed  a  bad  one  and  so  I  paid  a 
specialist  eighty  dollars  to  send  me  here.  At  this 
writing,'  he  says,  'the  beasts  of  the  field  have 
but  little  on  me.  We  both  browse,  but  they  've 
got  cuds  to  chew  on  afterwards.  It 's  sickening, ' 
he  says  in  tones  of  the  uttermost  conviction.  '  Do 
you  know  what  we  had  for  breakfast  this 
morning?  Nuts,'  he  says,  'mostly  nuts,  which  it 
certainly  was  rank  cannibalism  on  the  part  of 
[410] 


PLENTIFUL      VALLEY 


many  of  those  present  to  partake  thereof, '  he 
says.  'This  here  frayed  foliage  which  I  hold  in 
my  hand,'  he  says,  'is  popularly  known  as  the 
mid-forenoon  refreshment.  It's  got  imitation 
salad  dressing  on  it  to  make  it  more  tasty.  Later 
on  there  '11  be  more  of  the  same,  but  the  big  do 
ings  will  be  pulled  off  at  dinner  to-night.  You 
just  oughter  see  us  at  dinner,'  he  says  with  a 
bitter  laugh.  '  There  '11  be  a  mess  of  lovely  boiled 
carrots, '  he  says,  'and  some  kind  of  chopped  fod 
der,  and  if  we're  all  real  good  and  don't  spill 
things  on  our  bibs  or  make  spots  on  the  table 
cloth,  why,  for  dessert  we'll  each  have  a  nice 
dried  prune.  I  shudder  to  think,'  he  says,  'what 
I  could  do  right  this  minute  to  a  large  double 
sirloin  cooked  with  onions  Desdemona  style, 
which  is  to  say,  smothered. ' 

"  'Mister,'  I  says,  'I  never  thought  I'd  fall  so 
low  as  to  be  a  vegeterrier,  but  necessity,'  I  says, 
'is  the  mother  of  vinegar.  Could  you  please, 
sir,  spare  us  a  couple  of  bites  out  of  that  there 
ensilage  of  yourn  —  one  large  bite  for  me  and  one 
small  bite  for  my  young  friend  there  to  keep 
what  little  life  we  have  until  the  coming  of  the 
corned  beef  and  cabbage?' 

'"Fellow  sufferer,'  he  says,  'listen  here  to  me. 
I've  got  a  dear  old  white-haired  grandmother, 
which  she  was  seventy-four  her  last  birthday  and 
has  always  been  a  life-long  member  of  the  First 
Baptist  Church.  I  love  my  dear  old  grand 
mother,  but  if  she  was  standing  right  here  now 
and  asked  me  for  a  nibble  off  my  mid-day  re- 
[411] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


freshment  I'd  tell  her  to  go  find  a  truck  patch  of 
her  own.  Yes  sir,  I'd  turn  her  down  cold;  be 
cause  if  I  don't  eat  enough  to  keep  me  alive  to 
get  out  of  here  when  the  times  comes  I  wont  be 
alive  to  get  out  of  here  when  the  time  comes. 
Anywhere  else  I  could  love  you  like  a  brother, ' 
he  says,  'and  divide  my  last  bite  with  you,  but 
not  here,'  he  says,  'not  here!  Do  you  get  me?' 
he  says. 

"  'Sir, '  I  says,  'I  get  you.  Take  care  of  your 
self  and  don't  get  foundered  on  the  green  truck,' 
I  says.  'A  bran  mash  now  and  then  and  a  wisp 
of  cured  timothy  hay  about  once  in  so  long  ought 
to  keep  off  the  grass  colic,'  I  says.  'Come  on, 
little  playmate,'  I  says  to  Sweet  Caps,  'let  us 
meander  further  into  this  here  vale  of  plenty  of 
everything  except  something  to  eat.  Which,  by 
rights, '  I  says,  'its  real  name  oughter  be  Hungry 
Hollow.' 

"So  we  meanders  some  more  miles  and  pretty 
soon  I'm  that  empty  that  I  couldn't  be  no  emp 
tier  than  I  am  without  a  surgical  operation.  My 
voice  gets  weak,  and  objects  dance  before  my 
eyes. 

"After  while  they  quits  dancing,  and  I  realizes 
that  I'm  bowing  low  before  probably  the  boniest 
lady  that  ever  lived.  A  gold  watch  has  got  more 
extra  flesh  on  it  than  this  lady  has  on  her.  She  is 
looking  out  of  the  front  window  of  a  small  cottage 
and  her  expression  verges  on  the  disapproving. 
As  nearly  as  I  can  figure  out  she  disappproves  of 
everything  in  general,  and  a  large  number  of 


PLENTIFUL     VALLEY 

things  in  particular.  And  I  judges  that  if  there 
is  any  two  things  in  the  world  which  she  disap 
proves  of  more  than  any  other  two  things,  those 
two  things  is  me  and  the  Sweet  Caps  Kid- 

"I  removes  my  lid  and  starts  to  speak,  but  she 
merely  waves  her  arm  in  a  majestic  manner, 
meaning,  if  I  know  anything  about  the  sign 
language,  'Exit  in  case  of  dog.'  So  we  exits 
without  even  passing  the  time  of  the  day  with 
her  and  continues  upon  our  way  through  the 
bright  sunshine.  The  thermometer  now  regis 
ters  at  least  ninety-eight  in  the  shade,  but  then 
of  course  we  don't  have  to  stay  in  the  shade, 
and  that's  some  consolation. 

"The  next  female  land-owner  we  encounters 
lives  away  down  in  the  woods.  She's  plump  and 
motherly-looking,  with  gold  bows  on  her  spec's. 
She  is  out  in  her  front  garden  picking  pansies 
and  potato  bugs  and  other  flora  and  fauna 
common  to  the  soil.  She  looks  up  as  the 
gate-latch  clicks,  and  beholds  me  on  the  point 
of  entering. 

'" Madam,'  I  says,  'pardon  this  here  intrusion 
but  in  us  you  behold  two  weary  travelers  carrying 
no  script  and  no  purse.  Might  I  ask  you  what 
the  chances  are  of  us  getting  a  square  meal  before 
we  perish?' 

'"You  might,'  she  says. 

"'Might  what? 'I  says. 

' '  Might  ask  me, '  she  says, '  but  I  warn  you  in 
advance,  that  I  ain't  very  good  at  conundrums. 
I'm  a  lone  widder  woman, '  she  says,  *  and  I've 


SUNDRY      ACCOUNTS 


got  something  to  do, 'she  says,  *  besides  standing 
out  here  in  the  hot  sun  answering  riddles  for 
perfect  strangers,'  she  says.  'So  go  ahead,'  she 
says. 

"'Madam,'  I  says  pretty  severe,  'don't  trifle 
with  me.  I'm  a  desperate  man,  and  my  friend 
here  is  even  desperater  than  what  I  am.  Re 
member  you  are  alone,  and  at  our  mercy  and  — ' 

"Oh,'  she  says,  with  a  sweet  smile,  'I  ain't  ex 
actly  alone.  There's  Tige,'  she  says. 

"I  don't  see  no  Tige,'  I  says,  glancing  around 
hurriedly. 

"  'That  ain't  his  fault/  she  says.  'I'll  call 
him, '  she  says,  looking  like  it  wont  be  no  trouble 
whatsoever  to  show  goods. 

"But  we  don't  wait.  'Sweet  Caps,'  I  says  to 
him  as  we  hikes  round  the  first  turn  in  the  road, 
'this  district  ain't  making  no  pronounced  hit 
with  me.  Every  time  you  ast  'em  for  bread  they 
give  you  a  dog.  The  next  time,'  I  says, '  anybody 
offers  me  a  canine,  I'm  going  to  take  him,'  I  says. 
'  If  he  can  eat  me  any  faster  than  I  can  eat  him,' 
I  says,  'he'll  have  to  work  fast.  And,'  I  says, 
'if  I  should  meet  a  nice  little  clean  boy  with  fat 
legs  — Heaven  help  him ! ' 

"And  just  as  I'm  speaking  them  words  we 
comes  to  a  lovely  glade  in  the  woods  and  stops 
with  our  mouths  ajar  and  our  eyes  bulged  out 
like  push  buttons.  'Do  I  sleep,'  I  says  to  myself, 
'or  am  I  just  plain  delirious?' 

"  For  right  there,  out  in  the  middle  of  the  woods, 
is  a  table  with  a  white  cloth  on  it,  and  it's  all 


PLENTIFUL     VALLEY 

covered  over  with  the  most  lucivicious  looking 
viands  you  ever  see  in  your  life,  including  a  ham 
and  a  couple  of  chickens  and  a  pie  and  some  cool- 
looking  bottles  with  long  necks  on  'em  and  gilt- 
foil  crowns  upon  their  regal  heads.  And  a  couple 
of  flunkies  in  long-tailed  coats  and  knee  breeches 
and  white  wigs  are  mooning  round,  fixing  things 
up  ship  shape.  And  just  then  a  tall  lady  comes 
sauntering  out  of  the  bushes,  and  she  strolls  up 
close  and  the  flunkies  bow  and  fall  back  and  she 
says  something  about  everything  being  now 
ready  for  Lady  Gwyndolin's  garden  party  and 
departs  the  same  way  she  came.  And  the  second 
she's  out  of  sight,  me  and  Sweet  Caps  can't  hold 
in  no  longer.  We  busts  through  the  roadside 
thicket  and  tear  acrost  that  open  place,  licketty- 
split.  It  seems  too  good  to  be  true.  And  it  is. 
When  we  gets  up  close  we  realizes  the  horrible 
truth. 

"The  ham  is  wood  and  the  chickens  is  paste 
board  and  the  pie  is  a  prop  pie  and  the  bottles 
aint  got  nothing  in  'em  but  the  corks.  As  we 
pauses,  stupefied  with  disappointment,  a  cheer 
ful  voice  calls  out :  'That's  the  ticket!  Hold  the 
spot  and  register  grief  —  we  can  work  the  scene 
in  and  it'll  be  a  knock-out ! ' 

"And  right  over  yonder  at  the  other  side  of 
the  clearing  stands  a  guy  in  a  checked  suit  grind 
ing  the  handle  of  a  moving-picture  machine.  We 
has  inadvertently  busted  right  into  the  drammer. 
So  we  kicks  over  his  table  and  departs  on  the 
run,  with  a  whole  troupe  of  them  cheap  fillum 
[415] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 

troopers  chasing  after  us,  calling  hard  names 
and  throwing  sticks  and  rocks  and  things. 

"After  while,  by  superior  footwork,  we  loses 
'em  and  resumes  our  journey.  Well,  unless 
you've  got  a  morbid  mind  you  wont  be  inter 
ested  in  hearing  about  our  continued  sufferings. 
I  will  merely  state  that  by  the  time  five  o'clock 
comes  we  have  traveled  upwards  of  nine  hun 
dred  miles,  running  sometimes  but  mostly  walk 
ing,  and  my  feet  is  so  full  of  water  blisters  I've 
got  riparian  rights.  Nearly  everything  has  hap 
pened  to  us  except  something  to  eat.  So  we 
comes  to  the  edge  of  a  green  field  alongside  the 
road  and  I  falls  in  a  heap,  and  Sweet  Caps  he 
falls  in  another  heap  alongside  of  me,  making 
two  heaps  in  all. 

'  'Kiddo,'  I  says,  'let  us  recline  here  and  en 
joy  the  beauties  of  Nature,'  I  says. 

'  'Dem  the  beauties  of  Nature!'  says  Sweet 
Caps.  'I've  had  enough  Nature  since  this 
morning  to  last  me  eleven  thousand  years.  Na 
ture,'  he  says,  'has  been  overdone,  anyway.' 

'  '  Ain't  you  got  no  soul? '  I  says. 

'  'Oh  yes,'  he  says,  'I've  got  a  soul,  but  the 
trouble  is, '  he  says,  'I've  got  a  lot  of  other  vital 
organs,  too.  When  I  ponder,'  he  says,  'and  re 
member  how  many  times  I've  got  up  from  the 
table  and  gone  away  leaving  bones  and  potato 
peels  and  clam  shells  and  lobster  claws  on  the 
plate  —  when  I  think,'  he  says,  'of  them  old 
care-free,  prodigal  days,  I  could  bust  right  out 
crying. ' 


PLENTIFUL     VALLEY 

"  'Sh-h!'  I  says,  'food  has  gone  out  of  fashion 
—  the  best  people  ain't  eating  any  more.  Put 
your  mind  on  something  else,'  I  says.  'Con 
sider  the  setting  sun,'  I  says,  'a-sinking  in  the 
golden  west.  Gaze  yonder,'  I  says,  'upon  that 
great  yellow  orb  with  all  them  fleecy  white 
clouds  banked  up  behind  it.' 

"  'I'm  gazing,'  he  says.  'It  looks  something 
like  a  aig  fried  on  one  side.  That's  the  way  I 
always  uster  take  mine,'  he  says,  'before  I  quit 
eating  —  fried  with  the  sunny  side  up. ' 

"I  changed  the  subject. 

"'Ain't  it  a  remarkable  fact,'  I  says,  'how 
this  district  is  addicted  to  dogs?  Look  at  that 
there  little  stray  pup,  yonder,'  I  says,  'jumping 
up  and  down  in  the  wild  mustard,  making  him 
self  all  warm  and  panty.  That's  an  edifying 
sight,'  I  says. 

'"You  bet,'  says  the  Sweet  Caps  Kid,  kind  of 
dreamy,  'it's  a  great  combination,'  he  says, 
' — hot  dog  with  fresh  mustard.  That's  the  way 
we  got  'em  at  Coney,'  he  says. 

"  'Sweet  Caps,'  I  says,  'you  are  breaking  my 
heart.  Desist,'  I  says.  'I  ask  you  to  desist.  If 
you  don't  desist,'  I  says,  'I'm  going  to  tear  your 
head  off  by  the  roots  and  after  that  I'll  probably 
get  right  rough  with  you.  Fellow  me,'  I  says, 
'  and  don't  speak  another  word  of  no  description 
whatsoever.  I've  got  a  plan,'  I  says,  'and  if  it 
don't  work  I'll  know  them  calamity  howlers  is 
right  and  I  wont  vote  Democratic  never  again  — 
not,'  I  says,  'if  I  have  to  vote  for  Bryan!' 
[417] 


SUNDRY      ACCOUNTS 

"He  trails  along  behind  me,  and  his  head  is 
hanging  low  and  he  mutters  to  hisself.  Injun 
file  we  retraces  our  weary  footsteps  until  we 
comes  once  more  to  the  village  of  Plentiful  Val 
ley.  We  goes  along  Main  Street  —  I  know  it's 
Main  Street  because  it's  the  only  street  there  is 
—  until  we  comes  to  a  small  brick  building  which 
you  could  tell  by  the  bars  at  the  windows  that 
it  was  either  the  local  bank  or  the  calaboose. 
On  the  steps  of  this  here  establishment  stands  a 
party  almost  entirely  concealed  in  whiskers. 
But  on  his  breast  I  sees  a  German  silver  badge 
gleaming  like  a  full  moon  seen  through  thick 
brush. 

"'The  town  constable,  I  believe?'  I  says  to 
him. 

"'The  same,'  he  says.  'What  can  I  do  for 
for  you?' 

"'Lock  us  up,'  I  says,  ' —  him  and  me  both. 
We're  tramps,'  I  says,  'vagrants,  derilicks  wan 
dering  to  and  fro,'  I  says,  'like  raging  lions 
seeking  whatsoever  we  might  devour  —  and 
not,'  I  says,  'having  no  luck.  We  are  dan 
gerous  characters,'  I  says,  'and  it's  a  shame  to 
leave  us  at  large.  Lock  us  up,'  I  says,  'and 
feed  us.' 

"Nothing  doing,'  he  says.  'Try  the  next 
town  —  it's  only  nine  miles  and  a  good  hard 
road  all  the  way.' 

"I  thought,'  I  says,  'that  you  took  a  hide 
bound  oath  never  to  shave  until  you'd  locked  up 

a  thousand  tramps.' 

[4-18] 


PLENTIFUL      VALLEY 

"'Yep,  he  says,  'that's  so;  but  you're  a  little 
late.  I  pinched  him  about  an  hour  ago. ' 

"'Pinched  who?'  I  says. 

"'The  thousandth  one,'  he  says.  'Early  to 
morrow  morning,'  he  says,  'I'm  going  to  get 
sealed  bids  and  estimates  on  a  clean  shave.  But 
first,'  he  says,  'in  celebration  of  a  historic  oc 
casion,  I'm  giving  a  little  supper  to-night  to  the 
regular  boarders  in  the  jail.  I  guess  you'll  have 
to  excuse  me  —  seems  to  me  like  I  smell  the 
turkey  dressing  scorching.' 

"And  with  that  he  goes  inside  and  locks  the 
door  behind  him,  and  don't  pay  no  attention  to 
us  beating  on  the  bars,  except  to  open  an  up 
stairs  window  and  throw  a  bucket  of  water  at  us. 

"That's  the  last  straw.  My  legs  gives  way, 
both  at  once,  in  opposite  directions.  Sweet 
Caps  he  drags  me  across  the  street  and  props 
me  up  against  a  building,  and  as  he  fans  me 
with  his  hat  I  speaks  to  him  very  soft  and 
faint  and  low. 

"  'Sweep  Caps,'  I  says,  'I'm  through.  Leave 
me,'  I  says,  'and  make  for  civilization.  And,' 
I  says, '  if  you  live  to  get  there,  come  back  some 
time  and  collect  my  mortal  remains  and  bury 
'em, '  I  says,  'in  some  quiet,  peaceful  spot.  No, ' 
I  says,  'don't  do  that  neither!  Bury  me,'  I  says, 
'in  a  Chinee  cemetary.  The  Chinees,'  I  says, 
'puts  vittles  on  the  graves  of  their  dear  de 
parteds,  instead  of  flowers.  Maybe,'  I  says, 
'my  ghost  will  walk  at  night,'  I  says,  'and  eat 
chop  suey.' 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 

"  'Wait/  he  says,  'don't  go  yet.  Look  yon 
der/  he  says,  pointing  up  Main  Street  on  the 
other  side.  'Read  that  sign/ he  says. 

"I  looks  and  reads,  and  it  says  on  a  front 
window;  'Undertaking  and  Embalming  In  All 
Its  Branches. ' 

"I  rallies  a  little.  'Son  boy,'  I  says,  'you  cer 
tainly  are  one  thoughtful  little  guy  —  but 
can't  you  take  a  joke?  I  talk  about  passing 
away,  and  before  I  get  the  words  out  of  my  pore 
exhausted  vacant  frame  you  begin  to  pick  out 
the  fun'el  director.  What's  your  rush?'  I  says. 
'Can't  you  wait  for  the  remains?' 

"Keep  ca'm/  he  says,  'and  look  again. 
Your  first  look  wasn't  a  success.  I  don't 
mean  the  undertaker's/  he  says;  'I  mean  the 
place  next  door  beyond.  It's  a  delicatessen 
dump,'  he  says,  'containing  cold  grub  all  ready 
to  be  et  without  tools,'  he  says.  'And  what's 
more/  he  says,  'the  worthy  delicatessener  is 
engaged  at  this  present  moment  in  locking  up 
and  going  away  from  here.  In  about  a  half  an 
hour,'  he  says,  'he'll  be  setting  in  his  happy 
German-American  home  picking  his  teeth  after 
supper,  and  reading  comic  jokes  to  his  little  son 
August  out  of  the  Fkagetty  Bladder.  And 
shortly  thereafter,'  he  says,  'what '11  you  and  me 
be  doing?  We'll  be  there,  in  that  vittles  em 
porium,  in  the  midst  of  plenty,'  he  says,  'filling 
our  midsts  with  plenty  of  plenty.  That's  what 
we'll  be  doing,'  he  says. 

'"Sweet  Caps,'  I  says,  reviving  slightly,  're- 
[420  ] 


PLENTIFUL     VALLEY 

member  who  we  are?  Remember  the  profession 
which  we  adorn?  Would  you,'  I  says,  'sink  to 
burglary?' 

"'Scandalous,'  he  says,  with  feeling,  'I'm  so 
hollow  I  could  sink  about  three  feet  without 
touching  nothing  whatsoever.  Death  before 
dishonor,  but  not  death  by  quick  starvation. 
Are  you  with  me,'  he  says,  'or  ain't  you?' 

"Well,  what  could  you  say  to  an  argument 
like  that?  Nothing,  not  a  syllable.  So  eventu 
ally  night  ensoos.  And  purty  soon  the  little  stars 
come  softly  out  and  at  the  same  juncture  me  and 
the  Sweet  Caps  Kid  goes  in.  We  goes  into  an 
alley  behind  that  row  of  shops  and  after  feeling 
about  in  the  darkness  for  quite  a  spell  and  fall 
ing  over  a  couple  of  fences  and  a  lurking  wheel 
barrow  and  one  thing  and  another,  we  finds  a 
back  window  with  a  weak  latch  on  it  and  we 
pries  it  open  and  we  crawls  in. 

"Only,  just  as  we  gits  inside  all  nice  and  snug, 
Sweet  Caps  he  has  to  go  and  turn  over  a  big  long 
box  that's  standing  up  on  end,  and  down  it 
comes  ker-blim!  making  a  most  hideous  loud 
noise. 

Then  we  hears  somebody  upstairs  run  across 
the  floor  over  our  heads  and  hears  'em  pile 
down  the  steps,  which  is  built  on  the  out 
side  of  the  building  to  save  building  'em  on 
the  Inside  of  the  building,  and  in  about  a  half 
a  minute  a  fire  bell  or  some  similar  appliance 
down  the  street  a  piece  begins  to  ring  its 
head  off. 

F4211 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


"'The  stuff's  off,5  says  Sweet  Caps  to  me  in 
a  deep,  skeered  whisper.  'Let's  beat  it.' 

"'Nix,'  I  says.  'You  fasten  that  there  win 
dow!  I'm  too  weak  to  run  now,  and  if  they'll 
give  me  about  five  minutes  among  the  vittles 
I'll  be  too  full  to  run.  Either  way, '  I  says,  'it's 
pinch,  and, '  I  says, '  we'd  better  face  it  on  a  full 
stomach,  than  an  empty  one.' 

" 'But  they'll  have  the  goods  on  us, '  he  says. 

"'Son,'  I  says,  'if  they'll  only  hang  back  a 
little  we'll  have  the  goods  in  us.  They  won't 
have  no  trouble  proving  the  corpus  delicatessen,' 
I  says,  ' — not  if  they  bring  a  stomach  pump 
along.  Bar  that  window,'  I  says, '  and  let  joy  be 
unconfined.' 

"So  he  fastens  her  up  from  the  inside,  and 
while  we  hears  the  aroused  and  infuriated  pop 
ulace  surrounding  the  place  and  getting  ready 
to  begin  to  think  about  making  up  their  minds  to 
advance  en  massy,  I  pulls  down  the  front  shades 
and  strikes  a  match  and  lights  up  a  coal-oil  lamp 
and  reaches  round  for  something  suitable  to 
take  the  first  raw  edge  off  my  appetite  —  such 
as  a  couple  of  hams. 

"Then  right  off  I  sees  where  we  has  made  a 
fatal  mistake,  and  my  heart  dies  within  me  and 
I  jest  plum  collapses  and  folds  up  inside  of  my 
self  like  a  concertina.  And  that  explains,"  he 
concluded,  "why  you  ain't  seen  me  for  going  on 
the  last  eighteen  months. " 

"Did  they  give  you  eighteen  months  for 
breaking  into  the  delicatessen  shop?"  I  asked. 
[422  ] 


PLENTIFUL     VALLEY 

Mr.  Doolan  fetched  a  long,  deep,  mournful 
sigh. 

"No,"  he  said  simply,  "they  gave  us  eighteen 
months  for  breaking  into  the  undertaker's  next 
door." 


[423] 


CHAPTER  X 
A   TALE    OF   WET    DAYS 


TTN  the  days  before  the  hydrant-headed  specter 

|    of  Prohibition  reared  its  head  in  the  Sunny 

South  I  had  this  tale  from  a  true  Kentucky 

gentleman.    As  he  gave  it  to  me,  so,  reader, 

do  I  give  it  to  you: 

"Yes,  suh,  to  this  good  day  Colonel  Bud  Crit- 
tenden  ain't  never  f  ergot  that  time  he  made  the 
mistake  about  Stony  Buggs  and  the  Bear  Grass 
County  man.  It  learnt  him  a  lesson,  though.  It 
learnt  him  that  the  deceivingest  pusson  on 
earth,  when  it  comes  to  seeping  up  licker,  is  a 
little  feller  with  his  eyes  fur  apart  and  one  of 
these  here  excitable  Adamses'  apples. 

"Speaking  about  it  afterwards  to  a  passel  of 
boys  over  in  the  swopping  ring,  he  said  the  ex 
perience,  while  dissapinting  at  the  time,  was 
worth  a  right  smart  to  him  subsequent.  Previ 
ous  to  that  time  he  said  he  was  in  error  regarding 
the  amount  of  licker  a  little  man,  with  them 
peculiarities  of  features  I  just  mentioned,  could 

chamber  at  one  setting. 

__ 


A     TALE     OF     WET     DAYS 

"Said  he  knowed  some  of  the  derndest,  keen 
est  gunfighters  in  the  state  was  little  men  and 
he'd  always  acknowledged  that  spare-built, 
narrer-waisted  men  made  the  best  hands  driving 
trotting  hawses;  but  he  didn't  know,  not  until 
then,  that  they  was  so  gifted  in  the  matter  of 
putting  away  sweet 'ning  drams. 

"It  happened  the  time  we  all  was  up  at  Frank 
fort  nomernating  a  Clerk  of  the  Court  of  Ap 
peals.  There'd  been  a  deadlock  for  nigh  on  to 
three  days.  The  up-state  delegates  was  all  solid 
for  old  General  Marcellus  Brutus  Hightower  of 
Limestone  County,  and  our  fellers  to  a  man  was 
pledged  to  Major  Zach  Taylor  Simms,  of  Penn- 
royal. 

"Ballot  after  ballot  it  stood  the  same  way  — 
fifty-three  to  fifty-three.  Then  on  the  mawn- 
ing  of  the  third  day  one  of  their  deligates  from 
the  mountains  was  called  home  suddenly  by  a 
message  saying  a  misunderstanding  had  come 
up  with  a  neighboring  fambly  and  two  of  his 
boys  was  shot  up  consid'rable. 

"The  convention  had  voted  the  first  day  not 
to  recognize  no  proxies  for  absentees,  and  so, 
having  one  vote  the  advantage,  we  was  begin 
ning  to  feel  like  winners,  when  just  then  Breck 
Calloway  from  McCorkin  County,  he  up  and 
taken  the  cramps  the  worst  way.  For  a  spell 
it  shore  looked  like  he  was  going  to  be  cholera- 
morbussed.  Breck  started  in  for  luxuries  in 
the  line  of  vittles  soon  as  he  hit  town,  and 
between  votes  he  kept  filling  hisself  up  on  fried 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 

catfeesh  and  red  bananas  and  pickled  pigs' 
feet  and  gum  drops  and  cove  eyesters  and 
cocoanut  out  of  the  shell  and  ice  cream  and 
sardines — greasy  minners,  Breck  called  'em — 
and  aig-kisses  and  a  whole  lot  of  them  kind  of 
knick-knacks. 

"That  mout  not  a-bothered  him  so  much  if 
he  hadn't  switched  from  straight  licker  and 
taken  on  consid'able  many  drinks  of  this  here 
new-fangled  stuff  called  creamy  de  mint — green 
stuff  like  what  you  see  in  a  big  bottle  in  a  drug 
store  winder  with  a  light  behind  it.  By  the 
middle  of  the  third  day  Breck  was  trying  to 
walk  on  his  hands.  He  had  a  figger  like  one 
of  them  Mystic  Mazes.  'Course,  all  kinked  up 
that  way,  he  warn't  fitten  for  a  deligate,  and 
Colonel  Bud  Crittenden  had  to  ship  him  home. 

"I  heard  tell  afterwards  that  going  back  on 
the  steam  cars  the  conductor  told  Breck  he 
didn't  care  if  he  was  a  contortionist,  he  couldn't 
practise  none  of  his  didoes  on  that  there  train. 

"So  there  we  was,  each  side  shy  one  vote 
and  still  tied — 52  and  52.  And  at  dinner  time 
the  convention  taken  a  recess  until  ha'f  past 
three  in  the  evening  with  the  understanding 
that  we'd  vote  again  at  foah  o'clock. 

"Jest  as  soon  as  our  fellers  had  got  a  drink 
or  two  and  a  snack  to  eat,  Colonel  Bud  Crit 
tenden,  he  called  a  caucus,  him  being  not  only 
manager  of  Major  Zach  Taylor  Simms'  cam 
paign  but  likewise  chairman  of  the  district 

committee.     Colonel  Bud  rapped  for  order  and 

___ 


A     TALE      OF      WET      DAYS 

made  a  speech.  He  said  the  paramountest 
issue  was  how  to  nominate  Major  Simms  on 
that  there  next  ballot.  Said  they'd  done  try 
ing  buying  off  members  of  the  opposition  and 
other  regular  methods  without  no  success 
whatsomever.  Said  the  Chair  would  now  be 
glad  to  hear  suggestions  from  any  gen'elman 
present. 

"So  Morg  Holladay  he  got  up  and  moved 
the  Chair  to  appoint  a  committee  of  one  or 
more  to  shoot  up  some  deligate  or,  if  desired, 
deligates,  in  the  other  crowd.  But  the  Colonel 
said  no.  We  wuz  in  a  strange  town,  fur  re 
moved  from  the  time-honored  institutions  of 
home,  and  the  police  mout  be  hosstile.  Cus 
toms  differed  in  different  towns.  Whil'st  shoot 
ing  up  of  a  man  for  purely  political  purposes 
mout  be  accepted  as  necessary  and  proper  in 
one  place;  then  agin  it  mout  lead  to  trouble, 
sich  as  lawsuits,  in  another.  And  so  on. 

"Morg  he  got  up  again  and  said  how  he 
recognized  the  wisdom  of  the  Chair's  remarks. 
Then  he  moved  to  amend  his  motion  by  sub 
stituting  the  word  *  kidnapping'  for  'shooting 
up.'  Said  as  a  general  proposition  he  favored 
shooting  up,  not  being  familiar  with  kidnap 
ping;  in  fact  not  knowing  none  of  the  rules, 
but  was  willing  to  try  kidnapping  as  an  experi 
ment.  But  Colonel  Bud  'peared  to  be  even 
more  dead  set,  ef  possible,  agin  kidnapping  than 
agin  shooting.  He  advanced  the  thought  that 
shooting  was  recognized  as  necessary  under 
[427] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


proper  conditions  and  safeguards,  ever' where, 
but  that  kidnapping  was  looked  on  as  bordering 
on  the  criminal  even  in  the  case  of  a  child.  How 
much  more  so,  then,  in  the  case  of  a  growed-up 
adult  man  and  Dimocrat? 

"Nobody  couldn't  think  of  nothing  else  then, 
but  Colonel  Bud  'lowed  we  was  bleeged  to  do 
something.  There  warn't  no  telling,  he  said, 
when  another  one  of  our  deligates  would  get 
to  craving  dainties  and  gormandize  hisself  with 
a  lot  of  them  fancy  vittles  the  same  as  Breck 
Calloway  had  done,  and  go  home  all  quiled 
up  like  a  blue  racer  in  a  pa'tridge  nest.  Finally 
Colonel  Bud  he  said  he  had  a  suggestion  to 
advance  his  ownse'f,  and  we  all  set  up  and 
taken  notice,  knowing  there  wasn't  no  astuter 
political  leader  in  the  State  and  maybe  none 
so  astuted. 

"Colonel  Bud  he  said  he  was  shamed  to  admit 
that  the  scheme  hadn't  suggested  itself  to  him 
or  ary  other  gen'elman  present  before  now — it 
was  so  plum  doggone  simple. 

"We  got  mighty  nigh  three  hours  yet,'  says 
Colonel  Bud,  'and  enduring  of  that  time  all  we 
got  to  do  is  to  get  one  of  them  Hightower 
deligates  deef ,  dumb  and  blind  drunk — so  drunk 
he  won't  never  git  back  to  answer  roll-call;  and 
if  he  does,  won't  know  his  own  name  if  he  heered 
it.  We  will  simply  appint  a  committee  of  one, 
composed  of  some  gen'elman  from  amongst  our 
midst  of  acknowledged  capacity  and  experience, 
to  accomplish  this  here  undertaking,  and  like- 
[428] 


A     TALE      OF      WET     DAYS 

wise  also  at  the  same  time  we  will  pick  out  some 
accessible  deligate  in  the  opposition  and  com 
mission  said  committee  of  one  to  put  said  op 
position  deligate  out  of  commission  by  means  of 
social  conversation  and  licker  between  the 
present  time  and  the  hour  of  4  P.M.  By  so 
doing  victory  will  perch  on  our  banners,  and 
there  can't  be  no  claim  of  underhand  work  or 
fraud  from  the  other  side.  It'll  all  be  accord 
ing  to  the  ethics  made  and  purvided  in  such 
emergencies.' 

"Right  off  everybody  seen  Colonel  Bud  had 
the  right  idee,  and  he  put  the  suggestion  in  the 
form  of  a  motion  and  it  carried  unanimous. 
Colonel  Bud  stated  that  it  now  devolved  upon 
the  caucus  to  name  the  committee  of  one. 
And  of  course  we  all  said  that  Colonel  Bud  was 
the  very  man  for  the  place  hisse'f;  there 
wasn't  none  of  us  qualified  like  him  for  sich  a 
job.  Everybody  was  bound  to  admit  that. 
But  Colonel  Bud  said  much  as  he  appreciated 
the  honor  and  high  value  his  colleagues  put  on 
his  humble  abilities,  he  must,  purforce,  sacrifice 
pussonal  ambition  in  the  intrusts  of  his  esteemed 
friend,  Major  Zach  Taylor  Simms.  As  manager 
of  the  campaign  he  must  remain  right  there  on 
the  ground  to  see  which  way  the  cat  was  going 
to  jump — and  be  ready  to  jump  with  her.  So, 
if  the  caucus  would  kindly  indulge  him  for  one 
moment  moah  he  would  nominate  for  the  post 
of  honor  and  responsibility  as  noble  a  Dimocrat, 
as  true  a  Kintuckian  and  as  chivalrous  a  gen'el- 
[429] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


man  as  ever  wore  hair.  And  with  all  the 
requisited  qualifications  and  gifts,  too. 

"Needless  to  state  he  referred  to  that  sterling 
leader  of  Fulman  County's  faithful  cohorts, 
Captain  Stonewall  Jackson  Bugg,  Esquire. 

"And  so  everybody  voted  for  Stony.  We 
knowed  of  course  that  while  Stony  Bugg  had 
both  talents  and  education  he  warn't  no  sich 
genius  as  Colonel  Bud  Crittenden  when  it  came 
to  storing  away  licker;  yet  so  far  as  the  rec-ord 
showed  he  never  had  been  waterlooed  by  any 
body.  And  we  couldn't  ask  no  more  than  that. 
Stony  was  all  hoped  up  and  proud  at  being 
selected. 

"Then  there  came  up  the  question  of  picking 
out  the  party  of  the  second  part,  as  Colonel 
Bud  said  he  would  call  him  for  short.  Colonel 
Bud  said  he  felt  the  proper  object  for  treatment, 
beyond  the  peradventure  of  a  doubt,  was  that 
there  Mr.  Wash  Burnett,  of  Bear  Grass. 

"He  believed  the  caucus  would  ricolect  this 
here  Burnett  gen'elman  referred  to  by  the  Chair. 
And  when  he  described  him  we  all  done  so, 
owing  to  his  onusual  appearance.  He  was  a 
little  teeny  feller,  rising  of  five  feet  tall,  with  a 
cough  that  unbuttoned  his  vest  about  every 
three  minutes.  He  had  eyes  'way  round  on 
the  side  of  his  head  like  a  grasshopper  and  the 
blamest,  busiest,  biggest,  scariest,  nervousest 
Adamses'  apple  I  ever  see.  It  'peared  like  it 
tried  to  beat  his  brains  out  every  time  he  taken 
a  swaller  of  licker — or  even  water. 


A      TALE      OF      WET      DAYS 

"Right  there  old  Squire  Buck  Throckmorton 
objected  to  the  selection  of  Mr.  Wash  Burnett. 
Near  as  I  can  recall  here's  what  Squire  says: 

"'You  all  air  suttenly  fixing  to  make  a 
monstrous  big  mistake.  I've  give  a  heap  of 
study  in  my  time  to  this  question  of  licker 
drams.  I  have  observed  that  when  you  com 
bine  in  a  gen'elman  them  two  features  jest 
mentioned — a  Adamses'  apple  that's  always 
running  up  and  down  like  a  cat  squirrel  on  a 
snag,  and  eyes  away  'round  yonder  so's  he  can 
see  both  ways  at  once  without  moving  his 
head — you've  got  a  gen'elman  that's  specially 
created  to  store  away  licker. 

'"I  don't  care  ef  your  ->B ear  Grass  County 
man  is  so  shortwaisted  he  can  use  his  hip  pockets 
for  year-muffs  in  the  winter  time.  Concede,  if 
you  will,  that  every  time  he  coughs  it  shakes 
the  enamel  off' n  his  teeth.  The  pint  remains, 
I  repeat,  my  feller  citizens,  that  there  ain't  no 
licker  ever  distilled  can  throw  him  with  them 
eyes  and  that  there  Adamses'  apple.  You 
gen'elmen  'd  a  sight  better  pick  out  some  big 
feller  which  his  eyes  is  bunched  up  close  to 
gether  like  the  yallers  in  a  double  yolk  aig  and 
which  his  Adamses'  apple  is  comparatively 
stationary.' 

"But  Colonel  Bud,  he  wouldn't  listen.  May 
be  he  was  kinder  jealous  at  seeing  old  Squire 
Buck  Throckmorton  setting  hisse'f  up  as  a 
jedge  of  human  nature  that-a-way.  ,Even  the 
greatest  of  us  air  but  mortal,  and  I  reckon 
[-431  ] 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


Colonel  Bud  wouldn't  admit  that  anybody  could 
outdo  him  reading  character  offhand,  and  he 
taken  the  floor  agin.  Replying  to  his  venerable 
friend  and  neighbor,  he  would  say  that  the 
Squire  was  talking  like  a  plain  derned  fool. 
Continuing  he  would  add  that  it  didn't  make 
no  difference  if  both  eyes  was  riding  the  bridge 
of  the  nose  side-saddle,  or  if  they  was  crowding 
the  ears  for  position. 

' 'Now,  as  to  the  Adamses'  apple,  which  he 
would  consider  next  in  this  brief  reply/  he  went 
on  to  explain,  'Science  teached  us  that  the 
Adamses'  apple  didn't  have  no  regular  func 
tions  to  speak  of,  and  what  few  it  did  have  bore 
no  relation  to  the  consumption  of  licker  in  the 
reg'lar  and  customary  manner,  viz.,  to- wit,  by 
swallowing  of  the  same  from  demijohn,  dipper, 
tumbler  or  gourd.  The  Adamses'  apple  was  but 
a  natchel  ornament  nestled  at  the  base  of  the 
chin  whiskers.  He  asked  if  any  gen'elman  in 
the  sound  of  his  voice  ever  see  a  bowlder  on  the 
side  of  a  dreen,  enlessen  it  was  covered,  in  whole 
or  in  part,  by  vines?  The  same  wise  provision 
of  Nature  was  to  be  observed  in  the  Adamses' 
apple,  it  being,  ef  he  mout  be  pardoned  for  using 
such  a  figger  of  speech,  at  sich  a  time,  the  bowl 
der,  and  the  chin  whiskers,  the,  vine. 

"It's  the  size  that  counts,'  said  Colonel  Bud 
Crittenden.  'It  natchelly  stands  to  reason  that 
a  big  scaffolded-up  man  like  Stony  Bugg  can 
chamber  more  licker  than  a  little  runt  like  that 
Burnett.  Why,  he  could  do  it  if  Burnett  was 
[432] 


A      TALE      OF      WET     DAYS 

spangled  all  over  with  Adamses'  apples  and  all 
of  them  palpitating  like  skeered  lizards.  He 
could  do  it  if  Burnett's  eyes  were  so  fur  apart 
he  was  cross-eyed  behind.  Besides,  this  here 
Burnett  is  a  mountaineering  gen'elman,  and  I 
mistrust  not,  he's  been  educated  altogether  on 
white  moonshine  licker  fresh  out  of  the  still. 
When  red  licker,  with  some  age  behind  it,  takes 
holt  of  his  abbreviated  vitals  he's  shore  going 
to  wilt  and  wilt  sudden  and  complete. 

"'Red  licker,  say  about  fourteen  year  old, 
is  mighty  deceivin'  to  a  mountaineer.  It  tastes 
so  smooth  he  forgets  that  it's  strong  enough  to 
take  off  warts.' 

"Well,  suzz,  that  argument  fetched  us  and 
we  all  coincided;  all  but  Squire  Buck  Throck- 
morton,  who  still  looked  mighty  dubiousome. 
Anyway,  Stony  Bugg,  he  went  out  and  found 
this  here  Mister  Wash  Burnett  and  invited  him 
to  see  if  there  was  anything  left  in  the  bar;  and 
Burnett,  he  fell  into  the  trap,  not  apparently 
suspicioning  nothing,  and  said  he  didn't  care  if 
he  did.  So  they  sashayed  off  together  t' wards 
the  nighest  grocery  arm  in  arm. 

"Being  puffectly  easy  in  our  minds,  we  all 
went  back  to  the  convention  hall  'bout  half  past 
two.  The  Forks  of  Elkhorn  William  Jinnings 
Bryan  and  Silver  Cornet  Band  was  there  and 
give  a  concert,  playin  'Dixie'  foah  times  and 
'Old  Kentucky  Home'  five.  And  Senator  Joe 
Blackburn  spoke  three  or  foah  times.  I  never 
before  heard  Republicans  called  out  of  their 


SUNDRY     ACCOUNTS 


name  like  he  done  it.  Senator  Joe  Blackburn 
shore  proved  hisse'f  a  statesman  that  day. 

"Well,  it  got  on  t' wards  half  past  three,  and 
while  we  warn't  noways  uneasy  we  taken  to 
wishing  that  Stony  Bugg  would  report  back. 
At  ten  minutes  befoah  foah  there  warn't  no 
signs  of  Stony  Bugg.  At  five  minutes  befoah 
foah  our  fellers  was  gettin'  shore  miff  worried, 
and  jest  then  the  doah  opened  and  in  comes 
that  there  little  Wash  Burnett  — alone!  He 
was  coughing  fit  to  kill  hisse'f.  His  Adamses' 
apple  was  sticking  out  like  a  guinney  egg,  and 
making  about  eighteen  reverlutions  to  the 
second,  and  them  fur-apart  eyes  of  his'n  was  the 
glassiest  I  ever  seen,  but  it  was  him  all  right. 
He  stopped  jest  inside  the  hall  and  turned  up 
his  pants  at  the  bottom  and  stepped  high  over  a 
shadder  on  the  floor.  But  he  warn't  too  fur  gone 
to  walk.  Nor  he  warn't  too  fur  gone  to  vote. 

"  'Fore  we  could  more'n  ketch  our  breaths  the 
chairman  called  for  a  ballot  and  they  taken  it, 
and  General  Hightower  was  nominated  —  52  to 
51 — Captain  Stonewall  J.  Bugg  being  rec-orded 
by  the  secretary  as  absent  and  not  voting.  And 
while  the  up-state  fellers  was  carrying  on  and 
swapping  cheers  with  one  another,  our  fellers  sat 
there  jest  dumfoundered.  Colonel  Bud  Critten- 
den,  he  was  the  first  one  to  speak. 

"Major  Simms  being  beat  ain't  the  wust  of 

it,'  he  says.     'Our  committee  on  irrigation  is 

deceased.     The  solemn  and  sorryful  duty  de- 

volves  upon  us,  his  associates,  to  go  send  a 

[434] 


A     TALE     OF     WET     DAYS 

dispatch  to  Mrs.  Stony  Bugg  and  fambly  in 
forming  them  that  they  air  widows.  Stony,  he 
must  have  choked  hisse'f  to  death  on  some  free 
barroom  vittles,  or  else  he  got  run  over  by  a 
hawse  and  waggin.  Otherwise  he'd  a'  been  here 
as  arranged,  and  that  there  little  human  wart 
of  a  Wash  Burnett  would  be  spraddled  out  on 
the  floor,  face-down,  right  this  very  minute, 
a'trying  to  swim  out  of  some  licker  store  dog 
fashion.' 

"But  jest  then  we  heard  a  kind  of  to-do  out 
side,  and  the  doah  flew  open  and  something 
rolled  in  and  flattened  out  in  the  main  aisle. 
Would  you  believe  me,  it  was  Stony  Bugg,  more 
puffectly  disguised  in  licker  than  I  ever  ex 
pected  to  see. 

"Two  of  us  grabbed  holt  of  him  by  the  arms 
and  pulled  him  up  on  his  feet.  He  opened  his 
eyes  kind  of  dazed-like  and  looked  around. 
Colonel  Bud,  he  done  the  talking. 

"'Stony,'  he  says,  not  angry  but  real  pitiful, 
in  his  tones,  *  Stony,  why  the  name  of  Gawd 
didn't  you  git  him  drunk?' 

"Stony,  he  sort  of  studied  a  minute.  Then  he 
says,  slow  and  deliberate  and  thick: 

"'Drunk?  Why,  boys,  I  gozzom  so  drunk  I 
couldn't  see  him.' 

"And  as  we  came  on  home,  we  all  had  to  ad 
mit  you  couldn't  git  a  man  no  drunker  than  that, 
and  live." 

THE  END 
[485] 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 

Return  to  desk  from  which  borrowed. 
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23May'55AM 


LD  21-100m.9,'47(A5702sl6)476 


re 


